The Buddha reclines by the mock orange bush
on the edge of our jumbled meadow.
We dig a hole for each new plant,
deadhead lavender, prune the hydrangea.
The yard was spruced and ready,
but the raccoons had a hoedown that night,
They crushed the fairy grass and buttercups.
No way to fix things up before Joe’s big bash.
Joe can no longer speak,
but laugh lines crease his face,
as he waves and smiles
to family and friends who fill our home.
We float outside on beams of love,
settle on paths the raccoons flattened.
We raise our glasses and
Joe’s smile fills the sky.
The garden has never been so beautiful.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Angie Minkin has lived in San Francisco for 40 years and is grateful to live in a blue bubble filled with sea light. She raised two children in this beautiful city and now shares her home with her husband and two playful cats. A poetry editor with Vistas & Byways, Angie’s work has appeared in that journal, as well as Oh Mama, New Verse News, The Pangolin Review, and various anthologies.