Apprenticed
I tend my garden
with memories—
Gramma, soft, shuffling,
shawled against early air,
grumbling disapproval,
scolds her reluctant roses.
Later, mimicking a
nodding sentry from
her rocking chair post
upon the porch,
teeth foundering
in a stale glass of water,
mumbles,
“Where is that worthless boy?”
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
j's blog 