I hand her a bouquet of flowers in the shadows: daisies, her favorite. A token of my love, a symbol of my guilt. For my sins, my mistake. It is a peace offering, made in the dying light of our backyard.
She accepts daisies
Takes them and leaves for good
The wild gardens in our neighborhood grow onto sidewalks
weeds choke out flowers in front of beautiful homes
near the synagogue we wish to visit whenever
this virus stuff is over –
wild gardens, with daisies and wildflowers
that remind me of your wild spirit + ceaseless bravery.
(Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash)