yard work

when her husband died
the yard
was on her.
the mulch, the weeds,
the trees.
how quickly things grew,
how fast
the vines and hedges
over took
the fence.
it always seemed easy
for him,
being outside
the walls of the house,
in his hat, and gloves
each weekend,
till dark.
coming in to her
for lunch, cold tea,
tired
and dirty
at days end.
she felt guilty and sad
for wanting him
back,
just for this yard,
but sometimes that's
all there really was.