haunted by the scent of a flower
One day in the autumn,
I see clearly that your legacy is a garden
as you show me a hand drawn chart
where every flower is planted,
in what season they will each show their lovely faces,
and before I can ask the purpose
of the diligent, detailed diagram, you tell me:
when I am no longer here,
how else will my family know
what will bloom and when?
The purple wildflowers along the back fence
will delight eyes and noses in your absence, you hope,
and your white Shasta daisies will thrive in full sun
even if there is darkness in hearts,
the dwarf marigolds will make magic,
Red Salvia will call to the butterflies and bees,
Snapdragons by the bird bath will stun
in the simmering summer,
New England aster will grow tall
to meet the hummingbirds, soothing souls,
and your Irises will resume resilience,
gift that keeps giving.
For now you are here, sowing seeds,
bestowing loving pats on the dirt for us
while your almost century old knees
find new ways to do the work that is not yet done.
I hope one day to be
haunted by the scent of a flower.
Arielle Arbushites