Cactus
The cactus scrawls crude hieroglyphs against the sky; It reaches with twisted, inquisitive fingers To clutch the throat of something and question Why.
Alice Corbin Henderson
The cactus scrawls crude hieroglyphs against the sky; It reaches with twisted, inquisitive fingers To clutch the throat of something and question Why.
Aldington gives us a cactus that feels almost human, but in a distorted, desperate way. Its shape against the sky isn’t just a plant—it’s scrawled “hieroglyphs,” like a message we can’t decode.
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