The Lady With the Garden
The Lady With the Garden
I think I know the lady at the end of the street, the one with the gardens
When I am running we exchange glances as she plants lilies in various shades
She lights fires with branches and sticks she collects primping her garden
Her car is the only one there and it never moves
Her hair is long and deep gray strands usually rest in a worn-out bun
Hanging below her neck
It was brown when she was younger
You can see by the ends that are split and kept up
Perhaps just like my dark hair
She stays outdoors in all weather planting for hours
Her lawn is perfect and finetuned to perfection
But her skin remains pale as if she never leaves her home
She has no wrinkles except from under her deep set eyes
Maybe she aged well
Or maybe age has treated her well
Maybe it hasn’t at all
And instead of taking her skin it took something else
Her car doesn’t move
But she does
Watering, planting, burning
I question if she is lonely in the company of her garden
I run quickly by her, catching as many glances as I can
Hoping to see something new
Maybe she sees me and it tells her everything she needs to know
Her eyes are kind but burn with the affection of life
We have never spoken or even exchanged a hello or a friendly wave
Just glances
And yet
I think I know the lady at the end of the street.
The Voice
December 2023
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