My mother planted a garden
and soon sweet bees swarmed in
she showered it with fresh dew rain
and the soft scent of honeysuckles enveloped
she guided each golden ray
let them swirl round each stem
she filled the golden soil
colors bright and shining
nurtured by light
and soft like the dawn
her stems spiraled up
tall and unwavering
though one grey and bitter eve
surging clouds plunged closer
bowing down
they whispered into each petal
snickering they rhymed
words lined with rust
whose folds were decorated with thorns
whose pokes and prods pricked holes
the petals shriveled
and fastly dimmed brown
my mother hurried over
bringing fingers soaked with love
but the winds blew fast and purposeful
and mother’s salty tears rained down
my perfect place of serenity
and my quiet dreams of pleasantry
fading
oh too quickly
to a meer haze
Claire Pletcher is a 16-year-old from the midwestern United States. She enjoys studying Charles Bukowski and spending time with the earth. Claire hopes to one day be a published writer.