Listen
Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Green Flag Garden”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Steam lifts from the mug you brought, chamomile. Keys clink, then settle by the door. You look past me and ask about the light— is it too sharp on the sofa, is the draft still sneaking under the sill? You don’t declare a mood; you name it. Labels on jars: salt, cumin, ache. When the forecast bruises, you check in. When I say the name, you hold, palm steady with water, not tight. By the window, green shoots lean to the street. We learn their thirst by touch: two fingers in the soil, knuckles dirty, a measure more honest than talk. No slogans. Just small fixes: the chair angled to include the view, a towel warmed on the rail, you track the late bus so waiting is a room. Time does its weather on us. Gate hinges whisper. Sometimes the heart plates over—frost on the tank, brittle. stay. You oil the hinge with what the day gives— spare minutes, a joke without dodge, water tipped at the root. The gate swings easy again. The garden answers with leaves.
Lyrics
You text when you say you will You show up with time to fill You bring tea when nights turn chill You listen and let me spill Keys down by the door in sight You ask if the room feels right Name the need Match the deed Plant the seed Let it lead Let it grow, grow Make it glow, glow You label your feelings plain You laugh but you don’t play games You check in before the rain You hold when I say the name Green shoots in the window light We water them every night Speak it clear Pull it near Year by year No cheap cheer Let it grow, grow Make it glow, glow Good soil No spoil Sun slow We grow Let it grow, grow Make it glow, glow Gate swings soft, hearts harden Then soften, green flag garden
No published comments yet.