The Garden As She Left It
With pollens, stirred by bees.
The cicadas burn
Their fine blue current.
At the center, two paths cross:
A ring of impatiens.
Their white petals lift to the air.
Are they waiting for the next departure
Scrub jay, sulfur moth, the summer?
The paths lead outward
To a brick border,
A perfect circle squared.
On the gray wall of the house
A thin broom slants,
The air around it furious.
The dim figure of the woman,
The recent flutter of hands
"The Garden As She Left It" is from INFLORESCENCE published by Tupelo Press, copyright 2007 Estate of Sarah Hannah. Used with permission.
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