The Gardener’s Wife
I was with your son
after you died
we dug up that little weeping cherry tree
from your yard
just before your house
was sold to strangers
on the drive home, I remembered
the day you took me aside
told me you no longer worried about your son
that you knew he was in good hands with me
which seemed only a kindly comment
not knowing
you were feeling death’s fingers
on the back of your neck
at the right time
he planted your tree with great tenderness
worrying when it suffered a setback
from the transplantation
but it is blooming well now
and responding nicely to his loving care
it grows in front of the morning glories
that weave in and out of the weathered fence
a solid old oak
spreads its branches above for shelter
I watch him care for that delicate tree
and see how much better it is
for him to breathe in the sweet scent
of cherry blossoms
instead of visiting
the pale shadow of your grave
he finds some comfort
in loving what you loved
in not having to say goodbye
to all of you
some days I feel your presence
and believe you are aware of our little house
the cats, the yard
the weeping cherry tree
and hope you find me to be a good wife
to the gardener you left behind