My aging father
sadly said good bye to gardening
handing me brown-
his knobby hands cradle
His smile promises striking orange-pink.
I plant, watching green blades
grow broad and abundant…
year after year,
lovely thick clumps with no blooms.
I wonder if Dad holds the secret
of gladioli. I mourn each season’s loss
plan to dig up, discard, but not yet.
This spring, I’m ill, vulnerable and
rich spikes with voluptuous buds
rise triumphantly above the green clumps.
I watch in wondrous anticipation.
Perhaps the secret
is in letting go. No wonder glads
have become memorial flowers!
My heart swells with promises
of orange-pink while knowing
I patiently loved only green.
Dad’s legacy lives in orange-pink
promises, in lush green letting go,
in growing in wisdom and dignity.
Love you, Dad….sharon