A Girl in Her Garden

She lies in the vibrant begonias

Among brown lizards that rattle

Over shady stones and the burning sidewalk

When she rises to leave.

Now she stands over a garden

Of purest memory—

A chubby cherub sulks atop a ringing fountain,

And yet her tears are not sentimental.

What has changed about this girl

Who in size and shape

(if not in substance)

Once resembled this weeping little concrete angel

Crying into its fountain?

I remember when he led me to the hammock

And we embraced within its swaying net,

And he unclasped my dress,

And we rested within each other—

That is all I remember from here,

Or all I will tell

Standing over red begonias that burn like Hell.

A ninety year-old woman in a breeze-blown gown

Teeters over her garden,

Grin fading into a frown…

A monarch butterfly lands in the fountain

And drowns.

–Jenny Pollock

Jenny is an aspiring poet from Wichita, Kansas. When she isn’t sweating it out over her keyboard, she enjoys pampering her two Great Danes, Bolt and Maxx. You can reach her at peonies1992@yahoo.com.

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