It’s been a troublesome summer; not only for my garden but for myself as well. Last month, I had a hysterectomy which proved to be the most painful surgery I have ever endured. And to make matters worse, I have been unable to tend to my garden as I usually do. As a result, the last living rose that my mother and I planted over 20 years ago is dying a slow death.
I remember with clarity the day we planted the three Rio Samba roses. My mother had recently come to live with us after a decline in her health. When she retired, she moved her trailer onto a thousand acre ranch in Texas that her cousin owned. She loved living there, and soon after planted a long row of Rio Samba roses. They were her pride and joy. Thus, when she came to live with us we decided to plant Rio Sambas to see how they fared in Arizona. It was our way of helping her feel at home.
Mom taught us how to plant the young roses and helped along the way. I remember her delicate hands stained with the rich black soil we had trucked in for the new bed. Even now, as I stand here and weep over the dying rose, I can hear her voice explaining every step.
summer’s searing heat
roses fade, wither in sun
another soul gone
©2021 Linda Lee Lyberg
Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge: No.233
Linda Lee Lyberg is a wife, mother, artist, published poet and author. She resides in Mesa, AZ with her husband Pete (aka The Big Viking) of 24 years and their latest rescue, Jackson “Jax” Lyberg. Linda writes various forms of poetry, as well as short stories. You can read more of her works at: charmedchaos.com and view anthologies containing her work here: Amazon Author Page