The Garden of My Heart, Savanna Snead

The Garden of My Heart

Once you were as rain,
Splick splock splatting to the beat of my heart,
Falling to land on rose petals and vines of ivy.
But now my garden grows in the desert
And it has learned to live
Without you.

Once you were the may sun
And you shown down upon my garden
So that the flowers bloomed and reached up to greet your rays.
But now my garden grows in the darkness
And it has learned to live
Without you.

Once you were the soil
Upon which virulent red poppies, golden chrysanthemums and lily-colored tulips grew from.
But now I find that my garden grows from stone
And it has learned to live
Without you.

You, who helped sow the seeds of this garden,
Helped me bury and water them with dirt-stained hands
So that flowers would bloom in this desolate world.
You, who plucked the weeds from this garden and pruned overgrown branches, twisting into the sky,
So that beauty would grow in this world.
But though you have gone, I have found that my garden still grows,
Not from your hand but from mine.
I have found that my flowers bloom ever onwards
From the light that I give it,
From the water that I sprinkle,
From the soil that I have become.
And my garden grows not because of you,
But without you.


We are not born all at once, but by bits. The body first, and the spirit later; and the birth and growth of the spirit, in those who are attentive to their own inner life, are slow and exceedingly painful. Our mothers are racked with the pains of our physical birth; we ourselves suffer the longer pains of our spiritual growth.


A Visit To My Mind, Savanna Snead

A Visit to My Mind

Savanna Snead

I once paid a hypnotist so that he could trick me to stop smoking
And when he took out his magic pendulum, lulling me to sleep,
I fell into a black void and a voice told me that I was in my mind.
There were avalanches of chocolate brown hair, collapsing into purple goo that spun like a whirlpool
And old thoughts that spontaneously combusted.
I was joined by my old imaginary friend, Jim,
Who had grown a beard like a raggedy hipster in a rock band,
Wearing a Che Guevara shirt and converse sneakers.
He told me he wasn’t mad at me for telling my mom he ate the chocolate chip cookies she baked
But could I at least have saved him one?
I ditched him at the Theatre of Dreams and skipped onto the yellow brick road,
Which broke apart as I stepped on it, shooting me into the black sky,
Where I saw ideas glowing like the sun, running on idealism instead of hydrogen.
I tossed and turned like an insomniac
Waiting for the shotgun blasts of an owl, screeching hoot-hoot-hoot into the night
Before being spit out into a storage room where old thoughts and ideas were filed into categories
Like Dangerous, Way Too Stupid and Forgotten.
My stomach growled so I went over to a restaurant
Where nothing but baked potatoes and apples were served.
So I ordered from an oompa loompa, took directions from a pirate, and went to see the Great Guide,
Who turned out to be a GPS system with the voice of my mom,
Saying “Hi, I’m Sharon. Where would you like to go?”
And I typed in a phrase and shot through a cannon over to my unconscious,
Who was busy watching id and ego fight
While super-ego shrieked, “Why can’t we just get along?”.
I watched ego lay a Muhammad Ali on id, who Mike Tysoned the hell out of him back
And I walked back to the Theater of Dreams, just in time to see a sneak preview of tonight’s dream
Where I met up with Jim again. He led me to the Hall of Memories,
Where all my achievements were lined up like trophies and my failures were stashed in a back room
So they wouldn’t have to be seen.
He took me to a special screening room
Where I watched myself win a free gift card, lose my keys, and have my first kiss.
And when I was done, the  inhabitants of my mind wished me farewell
With a slow song until I floated out of my mind and into my body again,
feeling like I’d gone through a car wreck.
Now I don’t have to smoke anymore
But I wake up thinking about Jim, who asks me, “Why did you leave me?”
And see my id and ego laying blow after blow on each other
While the ideas from the Forgotten cabinet turn to dust
And I say I’ll take better care of my mind,
Maybe do some spring cleaning or hire a decorator
And I’ll feel better about the things I’ve left behind
And the thoughts that I will never visit again.