A sister to the shadow sonnet, "Mother's Green Thumb," posted previously.
She has magic hands, Persephone's touch. Everything she plants, thrives vigorously. I recall the time she unwittingly produced blossoms from dead limbs. Wish I could do that! She stuck the twigs, broken off a nearby tree, in dirt to mark the spots where she planted seeds. In Spring, peach trees sprang up like JohnnyJump-ups, eager to do my mother's bidding. "I don't need those any more," she said. as she pulled the markers out of the ground. The sticks had taken root. They soon became trees, thriving in my yard, blooming white in summer.
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