Espaliered
I think I have espaliered myself. I bloom, but only backed up flat against a wall of my own making, petals splayed as they unfurl to face the air. Hydrangea globes explode in place around me, pastel pink and blue — my God, let me now praise You more like they do. Coax me out to blossoming in bounded bursts of colour, hemmed around, but free to laugh and bloom and breathe.
