Season of Fences

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                    Soft jasmine splits silence
              slow scents slipping from sealed blooms
            she sits still, shadowed, staring inward
          sweetness stored beneath self-control

        Blaming begins before belief,
      broken backstories braided around her name
    borrowed burdens bind her body,
   bruises blurring blame and truth

  fragile forms fold into familiar smiles,
   faults flattened, fearfully filed away
     fierce flutterings fight inside her
       freedoms flashing against fate

        when wicked wrongs are woven,
          weighted words wound and wrap
            wrath withers into refuge,
              where she waits without witness

               like jasmine judged for gentle glow,
                 jealous daylight denies her,
                   just long enough to bloom in dark

                      Strained but standing, scarred but soft,
                        schooled in survival
                          “Sorry”

                            Not from sin,
                              but from systems
                                that shape silence
                                  into safety.

                           This is the season when fences
                            themselves eat the harvest,
                           when eyes lurk like greedy people,
                            waiting for the good jasmine season
                           to arrive -while she bends beneath
                            the weight of unseen labor,
                             and fragrant blooms never her

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