by Bill Yarrow
Searching for asters for the wedding
of her son, Eleutheria bent in the hedge.
She was thinking about the letter
she had just received from her father.
It was incoherent. He was failing.
She watched an inky cloud suck all the color
from the trees. She saw a conspiracy
of garden moths circle The Rock of Prayer.
Walking over to the frog pond, she looked
at her reflection. Something had congealed.
Her childhood was gone. His had returned.
There was nothing to be done though there
was much she had yet to do. It began to rain.
She stared at her reflection. It continued to rain.
All rights reserved.
A version of poem appeared in fwriction : review on November 17, 2011.
Thanks, Danny Goodman!