I tend my garden with memories - 

Gramma, soft, shuffling,
sweatered against the morning air,

mutters thin lipped sounds
of disapproval,
scolding reluctant carrots and beans,

and with 
critical eyes, surveys
hesitant blooms of zucchini.

Keeping bent fingers busy with
slender sticks, stabbed,
and drooping strings, frayed,

she tugs impatiently at
a childish tomato.

Later, she mimics a 
nodding sentry from the porch,
shawled shoulders,

cat, lapped, 

her teeth foundering
in a glass beside her,

she wonders aloud,

"Where is that worthless boy?"

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