The Garden

She helps me to form my letters
while I gaze through the wobbly pane
of the window at the garden.
My attention drifts to the cat
away from the paper and my lessons -
a worn and common sense of longing.

She gives in — not very long
after I stopped trying to form the letters.
knowing that an unwanted lesson
wouldn’t stick. She watched through the pane
as I played with the cat
in circles of chase through the garden.

It was her delight, that garden;
a mark of patience practiced life-long.
It saw few guests — just me & the cat
& spirits of distant friends via letters.
While on the other side of the pane
awaited unfinished lessons.

I never finished the lessons,
but finished the games in the garden
as it slowly faded — unkept by pain
holding the keeper down. Her longing
not quenched (but consoled) by her letters
& the warm company of the cat.

Until there was no more cat,
only an ear awaiting a lesson
while I helped her read the letters
under the photograph of her garden.
Unseen by anyone in so long
Herself, at a standstill in the pain.

She stares through the window pane
of an unfamiliar room, remembering the cat.
(They tell us it will not be long)
But there are many other lessons
that can also be learned in a garden.
Someday, I will tell you in a letter.

I read her letters in the stream of light through the pane.
I will sit in a garden (with the warm company of a cat)
recalling my first lessons of what it means to love & long.