"Perennial Garden"

An old woman stood in her perennial
garden in a canvas coat, burgundy soft
faded cotton, a cord collar, her body wrapped
in the worn and stretched stitches that time
had placed a burden on. The tired pockets,
home to a withered rose, a wrens twig
blessed with yarn, and a thorn evoked a memory.
~
A pricked finger of blood and she relived her
innocence, her young lover, young like the
ovary of the bloodroot pushing its face against
the swollen fertile earth, her strand of blue eyes, a
tide of remembrance ebbed with smiling tears.
~
Sunlight cast its flattery upon her, life
composed in soil-rich clay and peat, returned her
memories another season, marsh marigolds
shouted from across the bog, trilliums
danced at her feet, the dogwood lit the
edge with a canopy of white snow like leaves
and when she reached for her trowel to plant,
she looked up. She stood at the far end of the
garden, calling her by name, waving her to come,
her young lover, young like she was once.
~
'42'