i see the tomatoes
still on
the vines
at the store, i pick them
up and hold
them to my nose.
there were so many
late summers
when i took
bags of them
home.
he loved his garden, his
little plot
of land
beneath the window,
beside
the concrete patio.
it's rare
to hold one in my hand
these days and
not think
of him,
his tomatoes for the road.
No comments:
Post a Comment