woman next door from
Hungary,
is planting flowers
in the yard,
part mine
part hers.
yesterday she brought
me over
a bowl of hot stew
she made.
she kneels now in
the soft dirt
and smiles in the sun
with her
old face
and hair pulled back,
the silver
falling down
and asks me if it's okay.
of course
i tell her
of course, and if you
have time
the back yard as well
awaits.
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