Thursday, July 15, 2010

Flowerbed

She speaks
through the flowers.
Sentences
parsed out
into each new
rosebud.

The callalilies
are memories
of The kids
growing so fast.

The wildflowers
are her spirit.
The gladiolas;
her will.
But the roses
are her soul.

4 comments:

Chris Andrews said...

This is for my grandma. She died today. I may not be posting for the next few days, but I'll try.

Brent Vogelman said...

I'm so sorry for your loss. I lost my grandmother a couple of years ago and I know how hard that can be. Take all the time you need.

I think this poem is a fitting tribute to your grandmother. My grandmother also liked to garden so I really relate to this metaphor. I send my condolences to you and your family.

Edward Yoo said...

From your poems, it's evident that your grandmother means a great deal to you, and through your words, I feel snippets of your grandmother and grandfather's lives. Like Brent says, this is a loving tribute to a beautiful life. Again, my thoughts are with you and your family.

Chris Andrews said...

Thanks fellas. I mean it's not like it came out of left field, but it still sucks. I'm gonna write still though.