The Consolation of Roses
So fragile, their perfume,
as soft as the breeze that barely
How lovingly you tended your garden
last summer in Columbus, your refuge
from Daddy’s benders
and my teenage moods.
How you blossomed among the sweet peas
zinnias, the columns of holly hocks
climbing up the gray
planks of the barn.
But especially the roses, your babies,
you crooned and coaxed
the reticent buds into champion blooms.
remember none of the names,
only a few of the colors—
yellow, dusty pink, and a delicate coral,
your favorite, the shade of a slightly
peach, with a hopeful hint of red.