Friday, April 15, 2011

At Ninety-Two

remembering is hard work,
hard as maples felled
clearing a mountain road,
hard as rocks sheltering
the house they share
with wild blackberries for neighbors.

In her garden
with only the beets showing
she digs into black soil,
recalls her children
waiting for ripe tomatoes.

She remembers
they troubled over
which trees to axe,
dying was always hard work.

Linda Watskin 2011
Day 15
Poetic Asides prompt


  1. Wow! This is loaded!! 'dying was always hard work' Phew!!

  2. This makes me want to cry. Fantastic writing!