an early death

the rusted

tools in the shed,

still

there, still in place

where they were left

twenty years ago.

the hoe,

the rake, the trimmer.

not mine,

but those of a previous

tenant.

how hard

she tried to keep the yard

alive, to keep

it green, to keep it

free of weeds.

pristine.

she told me once that

she would not

live to be an old woman.

and she was right,

dying at 43.