There’s a woman that’s standing as tall as the trees

With eyes made of flowers and skin made of leaves

And she’s two times the height of the roofs and the eaves

Wherever you are,

No matter how far,

You can still glimpse her flowing green sleeves.

And there’s no way that somebody trimmed her by hand

She was most likely grown up and out of the land

But her details look so suspiciously planned -

Nothing natural there

In her perfect green hair,

in the way she’s so carefully grand.

If you want to reach her, then it’ll take days

The forest’s enchanted, the air is a haze

But at some point you’ll get there, adrift in a daze

The flowers so sweet,

You’ll stand at her feet

…And right there, there’s a door to a maze.

You’ll think, “Oh, how strange,” as you walk through the door -

In an instant, the world’s not the same as before

The inside expands, reaching up, floor to floor

There are tunnels and rooms

And untamable blooms

A whole hidden world to explore.

In each little room, something different grows

There’s a bathroom where every tile is a rose

One closet is full of chrysanthemum clothes

There’s hydrangea utensils

And peony pencils

And pollen that torments your nose.

And you’ll wander in wonder for hour after hour

Mentally writing down every new flower

So awestruck by this otherworldly power

You lose track of time,

You continue to climb

Til you land at the top of the tower.

One wall looks just like the inside of a face

So you must be exploring the woman’s headspace

But you can’t find the flowers, not even a trace.

You see metal supplies,

Some hedge trimmers and dyes

…You don’t feel good in this place. 

There are tables with scissors beside crooked stems

And microscoped flowers inspected like gems

And nothing is growing, not-

“Hello?”

you whirl around.

and there in the corner, is a girl.

you see her hair first -

it’s full, dark, but knotted,

tangled with snippets of greenery,

and you wonder-

“what are you doing here?” she asks, stepping closer, almost a tiptoe.

you say “i- i didn’t know there was someone here- who are you?”

she tenses, coiled like a vine, then replies, “i’m the groundskeeper.”

she says it so ordinarily for such unordinary grounds. you try out the question - “and what is this place?”

she sighs.

“this is the gift that i got from the wood.

she planted herself in the ground where i stood.

she grew me much more than i realized she could

and she made me a deal:

if i made her real,

then she swore to make my whole world good.

so i gave her her beauty, i trimmed from inside

i built and i sculpted and tended and dyed

i wrapped and i colored, i knotted and tied

and the next thing i knew,

the taller she grew,

and she’s visible now far and wide.”

you look at her, stunned.

“but all this- is it real, then?”

and she reaches over to the microscope,

takes the flower,

rubs it between her fingers, gingerly,

and says “kind of.”

you grab it from her,

and it feels real at first,

but then there’s this smell,

the sweet muck of wanting,

of peat and rot and death

bleeding into your skin, 

chemical, and stinging,

burning your hand,

your fingertips, going red and pruny -

you gasp and drop it.

the girl’s hands are red as roses.

you whisper, “does it hurt?”

reluctantly, she nods.

You take those burned hands in yours and say, “Let’s get out of here, okay? Go somewhere else? Get some bandages?” And you mean it.

but she yanks away,

and her voice is full of thorns,

“you realize i can’t just abandon the ground.

i am part of this place, i am tied, i am bound

i am beautiful here, i am loved, i am found

and not everyone else has a green thumb, you know

not everyone sees that disguises can grow

from the earth, flourishing and alive even though

they’re not real, nothing’s real, everybody’s a hedge

and everyone’s life’s on a leaf trimmer’s edge

it isn’t my fault that i learned how to fledge 

and no one can know that i look like i do

please don’t let them see past the beauty i grew

please let them believe that their legend is true

please don’t make me leave, i’m begging you.”

You stare at her long and hard,

Trying to cut her open,

Pluck the clippers and dyes out of her skull,

Stuff it full of flowers, real flowers

Roses that won’t burn 

And pollen that won’t poison

And seeds that won’t sprout

That won’t bloom and burst out

Through her nose and her mouth

Spewing anger and doubt

You just want to hold her

But somehow you know

That to keep yourself safe

You just have to go.

So you walk down those blooming spiral stairs,

Past the bathrooms, closets, kitchens,

And in the rustling leaves, there is a whisper,

Begging you to stay,

Begging you to help.

So you’ve met the woman a hundred feet tall

The wonders are big, but their hearts are so small

And someday you know that the sculpture will fall

When the winds start to turn

And the air starts to burn

And the whole world will learn

But until then, you’ll yearn

For the life you were living in thrall,

When you didn’t know flowers at all.