The Vigil
The ocean at moms house is the highway hidden by trees
the breaking waves is the traffic
golden hour is for watering the flowers around the house
there are hanging ferns,
hostas imported from Grandma’s farm,
pink and white impatients,
If it’s in a pot you have to water it.
so each evening as the sun slips lower she walks the boundaries,
Mom’s vigil broken only to wave at the neighbors and say goodnight to the cone flowers
the fireflies light her way home.
4 thoughts on "The Vigil"
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Excellent tribute…
Thank you. Can’t wait to share it with her.
This is lovely, especially that end image
Thank you! I’m really enjoying this month of writing. It’s shaken up the way I view the world.