the trees hold flowers and promises and bird's wings,

they tell their stories in a series of little rings,
just like me.

just like me . . .

come to me through the antler forest,
i will hold you, i will open the
screen door, to let in the velvet breeze ~
breathy whispers from the sun.

a field of clover, lies in between you
and me.

a blue sky drive, and your bed
will be my bed.

the river is deep, and the manatees come
seeking warmth.

gentle creatures,

they are guileless and forever innocent.

though the scars go deep and
death creeps in around their sweet corners.

i remember my grandfather's muscled arm,
he taught me my letters and simple addition,
the green lady on his forearm, naked and
undulating, sang foreign songs that rolled
off her hibiscus tongue,

she knew of war and
foreboding things,
i did not yet understand ~

when i was too young to treasure the
meaning, my grandparents brought
a garden to my door.

each time i started over ~

no matter where i went,

sage and lamb's ear,
red buds and moon flowers,
irises and cone flowers ~

followed me, filling up my lonely road, band-aids
for my latest mistake ~ my guileless hope that
home was sane and quiet and peaceful, full
of truth and sweet salvation.

those days lay far behind me, all my lost gardens.

my grandparents lay now, side by side.

they don't fight anymore or blame each other
for the sad things that haunted behind their eyes.

it is a cemetery tomorrow,
skeletons dance in their flower crowns,
they confuse the candle light flames.

they whisper to the letters, making
a poem in the shape of disappointed delight.

and in a new home, a field of hope, new and unbroken,
stretches its limestone bones.

i plant my mary and she is dripping
in yellow roses.  i plant cone flowers, sage, moonflowers,
redbuds, lamb's ear and other things . . .

other things ~

i learn how to make a safe home but i
still make lavender tea,
pour steaming water
from the copper kettle.
welcoming home my
favorite ghosts,

they sit in the garden and we
talk of the weather
and of black and white days
and of seeds and water
and the quiet promise of planted things.