Catmint—tubular, lavender, an ointment to blur the scar, bloom the skin. My mouth has begun the hunt for words that heal. In the garden, I am startled by a cluster of sun-colored petals marked, Radiation. Piles of radiation. Orange radiation, huddled together like families bound by a hospital-bright morning. And behind them: a force of yuccas called Golden Swords. A bush or mound of sheath-like leaves sprouting from a proud center. And isn’t that the plot? First the radiation, then the golden sword. I remember, incurably, your mother. The laughter that flowered from her lips. I’m sorry I have no good words to honor her war. It crumbled me to watch you overwhelmed by her face in the daffodils outside your childhood home. Copyright © 2014 by Eugenia Leigh. Used with permission of the author. |
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