Free
Verse
A War
Bride Looks Back
In a
Carolina garden
An old gardener
Is the sole guardian
Of a lush gardenia tree;
His bony hands cultivate
The red earth below it;
His labored breath coaxes
The cream-colored buds to bloom.
The mid-summer morning
Grows heady with fragrance,
Borne upward by a breeze
To a stranger in an upstairs room;
She rents it by the week,
No food allowed, bathroom privileges
Just down the hall…no matter,
She’s in the same town as he,
Her young husband of a year.
It is wartime and they must pivot,
Like two anonymous spokes
Around the hub of the wheel of war.
Nearly four decades have passed.
They have raised four daughters.
They have grandchildren, too.
Yet, even now, after so many years,
The unexpected scent of gardenias
Revives long-dormant memories
Of an old, gut-rending fear.
