my mother’s

garden

a colony of exotic

colors and fantastic

shapes sprouted

from a tract of clumpy

dirt and weeds next to

the garage

It started

as a patch of daisies

transplanted one hot

Saturday afternoon

from twelve tiny

black containers

into two very even

rows of six plants

each

She didn’t see it

as a beginning

simply a way to pass

the long hours

my father spent

advancing his career

hanging out

with the boys

on the other side

of town

In the

months and years

that followed

my mother’s garden

GREW

at an alarming rate

A tranquil stand of

nodding sunflowers

watching over her

all summer

while he hit balls

and made

connections

Brilliant red poinsettias

planted each

Christmas he was

away

on business

seven in all

A blanket of

periwinkle tulips

planted late

one night

when he forgot

to call

And finally

a delicate wisp

of an orchid

she took from

his funeral

to always remember

his cobalt

eyes

With each new

blossom that

emerged

her life turned

a paler shade

of gray

I have only one

flower

in my garden

a fiery

Hyacinth

in my house

he is not fragrant

often smelling

of stale smoke

or garlic

he is not easy

to cultivate

it takes more than

water and sunshine

to keep him

healthy

but

as each new

petal unfolds

I feel

my own roots

begin to

grow

as the gentle

beauty of his

blooms

color my life

like an often worn

tye-dyed shirt