TUESDAY: Mother in the Garden

BY IRENE GOLAS

Copyright is held by the author.

Sometimes I see you in the garden
leaning on your hoe.
I hear your voice
as you survey the cabbage and potatoes.

Leaning on your hoe,
you ask the familiar question
as you survey the cabbage and potatoes.
Will we have enough for winter?

You ask the familiar question
for which there is no answer, no reassurance.
Will we have enough for winter?
You see a dark, empty cellar.

There is no answer. No reassurance.
Times are better now.
Still you see a dark, empty cellar,
taste the watery soup.

Times are better now —
grocery shelves overflow with food.
No need to eat watery soup,
no need to hoard anything.

Grocery shelves overflow with food,
but you insist hard times will return.
I, too, begin to hoard everything,
begin to grow more than I need.

You insist hard times will return.
I hear your voice,
begin to grown more than I need.
Sometimes I hear your voice in the garden.

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