issue 34 > poetry > teeter

One year
your mother got tired
of planting her garden.

She bought
a dozen red silk roses
a dozen yellow silk tulips
and a dozen blue iris.
She planted them instead
along her front walk
alternating colors
with some silk ferns
to fill in between.

You didn’t see them yourself,
but every time you went to town
you heard about them.
By the time you went to see her
it was autumn
and she’d pulled them all up.






Also by Alice Teeter:

Fake Flowers, II
Panes