Pervasive

by Sharon Black

On a crowded sill behind the sink
it spread in all directions while their three girls
painted at the table, the dog
ran yapping through the house,

crumbs and leftovers on all surfaces, music scores
in jumbled piles, home-made jams
cramming open cupboards; marrows, gourds and onions
caked in earth along the floor.

Yann kept the place on after Karen left,
the tiny cutting is now twice my height
trailing languorous fingers
across the lantern hook, the indoor washing line,

drinking and drinking water. It flowers
year-round, pink fists emerging
overnight on woody knuckles,
clovers massing brightly on the soil.