Poem – In Your Garden


In Your Garden

 

I never dreamed that laying sod

would be a memory to keep.

You gave me that.

 

I stood and watched you

marking the edge of flowerbeds,

 

ringing trees, the future

blooming in your head.

Your eyes painting colours

 

on the damp brown earth.

I lifted the rolled sod

 

onto the wheel barrow

and brought them to you.

Lifted them out, put them

 

where I thought

you would need them, judging

by the lines of union two rows back.

 

You told me not to roll them out.

That was your job.

 

I watched you tugging the heavy green

matching the seams – tightening

the pieces of your new, green,

 

outdoor floor.  The hard rain held off,

the light drizzle misting the ground, the sod, and us.

 

I watched you working

on your hands and knees.

You were wearing a brown

 

and green rain shell of mine,

the sleeves rolled up inside.

 

The colour of it

matching the uncovered soil and the sod.

Your hands were earth brown.

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Author: William J. Gibson

62 year old - writer/photographer Canadian, survived open heart surgery, received kidney transplant, sometimes dour, sometimes amusing, over six feet in height, severely follicle challemged

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