I received my first stock
from the woman my father married,
a few years after our Mother died. They were
both eighty and set in their ways-she was
a hard-headed woman of German descent.
She snapped off a piece of hers
jammed it in a discarded pot of dirt
and said, “here you go.Just don’t leave it
outside in the cold or you’ll kill it-like your dad
almost did mine.” I cringed.
That was about as nice to me as she ever was.
Sad to remember her when I see my lovely