Why’d you shut the gate that you’ve left open
For us; for weeks, so that we might, with luck,
Obtain a plot where we’ll tend the broken,
Crushed, once thriving in your Garden of Trust?
Iridescent, precious, it might have been,
Plied with ebullient sapphire tulips;
The trees we planted would be evergreen,
Would not drop their disguises with vile quips.
Though the front gate is locked, the back may yield
With time and tact and rich internal tears;
Perhaps you’ll nurture, yourself, the razed field
Then welcome us inside with absent fears.
A.N. I was thinking about how, after around a month at university, people have begun to shut the gates to friendship. Suddenly strangers don’t meet you with smiles and greetings but blankness and silence. I wondered if, for some, there might be a deeper reason for this.