THE FLOWER GARDEN
I love the lilac, lily, chrysanthemum flower garden
That lingers under the milk of a fresh moon, late
At night as it pours its light into our delicious
Spot, where we sit in piles of chocolate pudding.
The dirt sifts through our fingers like the day
We drove five hours to the beach and we
Lived in the sand, our fingers drinking its warmth
And thinking that we could dig a hole to China.
I miss those days of floppy hats and large
Sunglasses and too much sunscreen because
Our mothers knew that the sun likes to leave
Its mark, sort of like us.
Remember the big maple tree we visited
After we had enough of hiding under the snack bar
Windowsill, where we carved our names
Like explorers who wanted everyone to know
We made this journey together; I miss that.
But I love our spot under this windowsill,
In the dirt and company of the moon. I love
The big maple tree and the porch and the wooden
Swing that likes to sing out of tune.
And what I love most of all is that after
Eighty years,
You seem to love it too.