ghosts in the garden

my great grandma had a favorite flower –
moss roses, or portulaca, small and
pink with hard-scrabble vines.
and my father’s rough fingers dug deep
into soil every year, dropping
shells into earth,
springing up corn and
tomatoes, pumpkins and
cabbage; flowers for a greater
purpose.
they are all there, still,
somewhere in the garden,
smiling in the earth,
as new seeds find purchase.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s