(Always remembering William Carlos Williams)
The late autumn dirt will not yield to my shovel.
But I promised you a new garden
planted where you can see it.
I drop the tiny bulbs with magical names
summon the earliest days of Spring
white crocus
blue muscari
pink tulips.
They scatter across the ground beneath the quince bush and roll away.
Come here, you brown nubs, and dream with me
send down your roots
refuse to give up.
Standing in the cold and damp
I see the future shafts of early spring sun,
warming to the idea of us.
Across the yard in the vegetable garden
I gather up armfuls of straw, protection from the wind and coming cold snow.
It is then I see you watching me.
I wave to you.
You yell words into the wind.
“What?” I say, thinking you need my help with something.
You call out again, “the red wheelbarrow”.
I finally understand and hear you laugh.
“It will all be easier if you use the wheelbarrow.”
You asked me last night
if our situation frustrated me.
Too often
we must change our plans because the day proved too tiring for you
too often
our choices fall away to disappointment
too often
I must do what needs doing
too often
you are left here alone and waiting.
This is not the retirement we dreamed of
except it is
more than I thought we could ever expect
you are still here watching out for me
thinking of what would help me.
The words red wheelbarrow echo
tying together days in time
a wedding day’s recited poem
today’s suggestion
both sourced in the love of me.
