The problem is, it is beautiful.
Rich green leaves that clamber up walls
and crawl over the grass. Glossy green
until the fall when they turn barn red,
so beautiful you want to, you need to
touch at your own peril. Wallow in its beauty.
and more than likely, pay the price,
biblical sores, oozing, infecting the skin
they weep on, making you a pariah,
a long recovery for that moment of glorious pleasure.
It pays to take time. To hesitate. To look up
the flora and know what lies the beauty tells.
And then, should you wallow anyway,
no mercy for your plight, for believing
somehow you are invincible
when you are merely human.
About this poem
About Poison Ivy. About lots of things in our lives. Choices.
It’s always about the choices.