Barry planted ivy plants from Home Depot
in the flowerbed on the northside
of the rental house next door
where he lived with his wife, Irene.
Why, remains a mystery.
If he planted
ivy on the southside, it would thrive
in many hours of direct sunlight.
ground creeping, clambering evergreen,
expanding and climbing,
intricate beauty and profound wonder.
dark glossy leaves with pale veins
and underside, vibrant in every season.
A tenacious covering,
strong, and a tightly coiling vine
clinging firmly to any provision.
A thermal protective shield,
against punishing heat.
Left to grow unattended
in the intervening years,
ivy covered
the flower bed gas meter, drain-pipe,
two bedroom and one bathroom
windows, in the shade.
Observing from the driveway
the covering of ivy,
ivy Barry planted
increased, like longing
for an old friend.
Spread out on the wall
as a constant reminder
of a pioneering spirit.
Ivy embodies him
in a way, since he moved
and later died.
He wouldn’t let go,
just like the ivy
where it was attached.
Defying gravity,
with a relentless desire
to reach the light.
