Gone
A golden brown wooden fence
Made by the hands of my dad
Trimmed dark green bushes
Leaned amongst the borders
Encompassing the many colors
Bright reds, Dark purples
And mellow yellows
And best of all
A small tree
Able to be seen even
From the window
Of my bedroom
Passerby’s usually commented
“What a beautiful garden”
On a city street, outside a bus stop
Beautiful yards were not common
Hot days while my dad watered the garden
I would sit on the porch
With my twin sister
One day a channel 11 newscaster passed by
Asked my dad what he was doing on this hot day
Said watering the flowers and spending time with his daughters
She asked how old we were
Said we were six
Lady then asked us do you ever say anything at the same time
And we replied no
At the same time
This made the newscaster laugh
Fourteen years later
Still reside on that same city street
Same bus passes up and down
Same passerby’s walk the street
No one admires the garden anymore
Passerby’s use our yard as an ashtray
Maybe because it looks like a graveyard
The golden brown wooden fence is not there
Looking outside my bedroom window
I can no longer see the tree
I can no longer see
Bright reds, Dark purples, and mellow yellows
I am stuck seeing dead grass and cigarette buds
So I planted morning glory flowers
Hoping to bring the beauty that was lost
And bring back the unity and love
This yard showed
This yard didn’t always fit the stereotype
My dad didn’t always fit the stereotype
I didn’t always fit the stereotype
And
Neither did my mom or my sister
Copyright © Ashley Plotczyk | Year Posted 2011
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