I rest my head
upon the earth
and watch the sun
set slowly through the long, tall grass
in the overgrown
garden where I used to play as a child.
It was as magical
a wilderness back then too,
neglected by my
grandmother because of her ancient arthritic fingers.
Her rich laughter
embroidered the days I spent exploring this place
and her wisdom
meant she would anticipate my questions
and prepare kind
words and smiles to meet them.
I would give her
wild flowers I had picked,
and she would give
me hot chocolate.
When I grew up I
learned how to look after this garden.
I weeded, mowed,
I raked and sowed, I tilled and toiled.
I set to work
with pesticide and herbicide. I worked hard, and at last
it became a place
where I could entertain on bright summer evenings,
sharing chilled
wine with friends to soothe my solitude with the chime of toasts
as we celebrated
our fragile glass stemmed crop of glistening light.
The doctors
showed me the scan.
The tumours
looked like beautiful wild flowers blossoming within me.
A course of
treatment was agreed, and we set to work with chemotherapy.
It didn't go to
plan. In my condition I couldn't look after the garden as I should,
and it ran to
seed once more,
and so now I rest
my head upon the earth
and watch the sun
set slowly through the long, tall grass.
The only lasting
monument we can have is a place where we have been
that is not
altered by our presence or our passing. So look upon what I have seen,
in this place,
and in the moments that come after everything else is forgotten
know me without
knowing it, and I will know you.
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