Us Women on Rocking Chairs (To my Mom on Mother’s Day)

You had told him,
don’t mow that part of the lawn
let it stay pretty a little while longer.

Magnolia blossoms spread out like
a soft pink tree skirt,
verdant grass now growing older, taller.

You squealed joyfully when the wind blew:
us women on rocking chairs
and more petals like snow falling, fresh.

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