dear mother
you hid your heart
behind stone walls
and locked gates
a secret garden
you never invited me
into for tea
glimpses of daisies
black-eyes Susans
lily of the valley
stolen through
cast iron posts
while standing on
tippy-toe

dear grandmother
you gave your love
more easily
my constant gardener
tending to hearth
to home
your summer arms filled
with purple and white lilacs
large blooms of hydrangea
the air around you
fragrant with wisteria

I have planted a garden
of a different kind
syllables and words
buried deep in the rich soil
of wistfulness
and loss
memory
and longing
I have gradually cut back the
overgrowth
allowing sunlight
and a generous watering of tears
to bathe the seedlings
in hopes that my children
will reap their own truths
from all that we have sown

© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved