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October 29, 2013

Tiffany’s Garden. ~ Jane Henderling {Poem}

Tiffany’s Garden

Beer on ice and barefoot

We sit and sip the green tea cups

and watch my bare bottomed son

chase the chickens.

You gently toe them

when they peck at you,

then stroke their backs as they move on.

We pick a dinner plate dahlia

and you preen the garden

as if the vines and leaves and lushessness of late august

were part of your own plumage.

We observe the newly cleared patio,

the broken picnic table,

jars and bowls and vessels

collecting murky water in the yard.

There seems to be no container to hold the life here.

It overflows like our words,

tumbling out in a hurry to be heard

and finally understood.

 

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Ed: Sara Crolick

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