Evening Poetry, December 2

The Garden

by Lisel Mueller

I bring my mother back to life,

her eyes still green, still laughing,

She is still not fashionably thin.

She looks past me

for the girl

she left her old age to.

she does no recognize her

in me, a graying woman

older than she will ever be.

How strange that in the garden

of memory where she lives

nothing ever changes;

the heavy fruit

cannot pull the branches

any closer to the ground.

You can find this poem in Alive Together.

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