in her garden,
her swollen knees deep
into the cold
dirt.
digging weeds.
pulling vines. stones
from the ground.
all the flowers and
vegetable long gone.
her gloves on.
her spade beside her.
a small rake.
her hair is tied back.
thick and grey.
only so many more days
at this.
so many more years.
then the steps are too hard
to go down,
to go back up
again. then what?
then the yard wins, she
thinks and shakes her head.
thank God,
i'll done with this,
she says
to no one.
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