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
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 firstname.lastname@example.org.