My grandmother's Garden II :: Winter of 1947

    My Grandmother’s Garden II[Winter of 1947 : Bronx, New York]  GrandmaTell meDo you still seeAs I doThe Christmas tree that mamma madeFor usBlinking colors red, blue and greenBegging to be seenBehindWhite Angel hair and silver  tears.Can you smell the bleeding pineLingeringAs weJust you and meStood by the window sillOne Winter's dayLooking at your gardenNow so quietNow so still. The fig trees wrapped in tar clothFour mummies in a row.Hydrangeas cut to the rootThey will return in the SpringYou saidThe same but differentJust like the Soul.The rose of Sharon treesFrozen by fear of the Winter windClinging desperatelyTo the rusted  green chain link fenceMourning the death of your umbrella treesNo greenNo swaying  leavesAs it used to beUnder Summer's breeze. Death and resurrection.NothingNo oneDies you said.We all come back somehowSomeway. I believed it thenWhen you were thereIt’s different nowSo many endingsToSo many beginnings. Your garden is goneTodayUrbanizationA different w ayA modern realisation
The sad inevitability of an end
To those times no one
Will see again. Death and resurrection
 You saidBut
Grandma didn’t you know.
No one ever comes back from the dead.I knew then.