She waits in my backyard
holding hands with chaos,
spinning with the universe.

She plots the plucking
of worms, and the planting
of tulip bulbs where
the squirrels can’t find them.

She imagines the mixing
of Miracle Grow, and
the spraying of sunflowers
in the warmth of August.

She stops her spinning
and searches for the image
of me, framed in the kitchen
window, washing dishes.

She asks, “Don’t you want
to come outside and get
to work in your garden?”

Her own yard could be
something. But it is not.
Overgrown with weeds,

it’s nothing more than
used-to-be memories
tucked away where old
Greek women stomp

grapes and poor women
struggle away the day.
There, the sun only shines
in spots through the overgrown

apple tree. There are no roses
on her window panes although
I would have them there.
Ashley starts her spinning again,

singing the songs of eternity.
I put down my dish towel,
pick up a trowel and tussle with
chaos in the warm April air.

©2007, Melissa Varnavas

Melissa J. Varnavas lives on Cape Ann in Massachusetts where she’s served several poetry communities in a variety of capacities. She was published in The Journal of American Poetry MARGIE in 2003, and is completing her first book of poems. Sketches of her work are available at her LiveJournal site, Songs of Sara.

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