Your Favorite Flowers

this place

of hidden roots

cut lawns

long shadows

growing longer

with the slanting rays

this day of

ephemeral memorial

late that afternoon

the first one appears

alone in a summer dress

through the pollen haze

floating below the

old cemetery trees

her auburn hair tied back

she stops

stands for a moment

quietly with

her small bouquet

of three sunflowers

bends to pick

brown leaves

from off the grass

close to the ground

she whispers words

that fall among the green blades

like small flecks of glass

as in a ballet

or perhaps as in

a well-staged play

a second daughter steps

from behind trimmed boxwood

onto the crushed marble path

that draws its taut line

between these unforgiving

gardens named for saints

she’s fit

she wears her

shortest denim shorts

sandals painted toes

a summer tee

unannounced

a third

just off from

work all

stethoscope and scrubs

waves to greet the others

as she calls out

they laugh at happenstance

well acquainted in

matters of reunited hearts

fleeting conversations

rise then fall

familiar rhythms

meander

this way and that

all meant to

catch you up

the small bouquet

adjusts to the vase

six feet above what’s left

inside the box

of muscle fiber bone

that nursed them each

when they were babes

and in their adolescent turmoil

held them tight

bottled water

summer heat

the inevitable

droop and wilt

and then as if on cue

each sister knows

the moment when

enough’s been said

impromptu comes to its small end

silence settles in again

a last blessing for

the minutes spent

shadows extend

just a bit more across

the few carved words

that try to sum it up

but don’t

and then

as you would

want

as lovely

as they

first

appear

they go