Mother's Garden

I stood on my knees in her garden staring at my inexperience and a few leftover memories of her, in her spot, by her rose bush. How she loved roses. I can feel her nursing, caring, pulling weeds of her heart and tossing then into a wheel-barrow. This little garden smells like her. I can find her here, I can hear her humming. I will water her roses with my tears. I will pull the weeds -for her. I will start with that large, ugly, thorny, emptiness, the one that is larger than the wheat fields of Kansas and free her rose bush. How she loved roses and now I love them too.