At some point after my father died
my mother said: Life’s no fun
anymore. I don’t know what she meant
exactly since I don’t ever remember
him making anything fun, and I think
physical intimacy hadn’t been part
of their lives for years, so that couldn’t
have been it. Maybe she just felt old,
and visiting friends didn’t much happen
anymore since one or another spouse
had died and things had slowed markedly.
And her garden held no joy for her now,
not her pet tomatoes, Early Girls, not
the sweet lettuce, not even the towering
gladiolas she had always adored more
than all the exalted glories of summer.
James Kangas is a retired librarian and musician living in Flint, Michigan. His poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, New World Writing, and West Branch, among others. His chapbook, Breath of Eden (Sibling Rivalry Press) was published in 2019.
Hello Readers, You know how it is when you focus on something like maybe your…
Portrait of Emily She sits in the bedroom window like curtains, whitely gazing down at…
Underground Gardens Legend was, After a quarrel with his father, He left Sicily behind And…
Their fair share We turn at the band stand because you say it’s getting dark.…