A child’s garden
In a corner of my father’s garden,
On a patch the size of a cookie pan,
My first garden was all marigolds,
Started in school milk cartons.
They were short & stumpy,
& I loved them more
Than the roses & lilacs
& the towering tomatoes
Who flaunted themselves.
I laid out a stone path
I was sure would suffice
For when the sprites I knew
From my dreams
Came to admire my marigolds.
When the cold settled in for good,
& the last tomato had been picked,
When the beautiful roses had failed,
My marigolds, their mild luster lost,
Crumbled away as if they alone
Simply had better places to be.