The Journal

thinking, writing, becoming my own teacher

A Grandmother

April 11, 2012

The worn path that leads from the tall Oak to the raspberry bushes
reminds me of my grandmother.
She once planted tulips and asparagus,
filling the spaces with blues, pinks, and yellows.
In her cotton dress and wide-brimmed hat,
she dug and sifted, clearing her garden of impossible weeds.
Dreaming of books and poetry. A writer.
I only knew her in her garden.

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Bittersweet
The Antidote
Cassandra Speaks
Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, Lori Gottlieb
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