The women next door moved in last week
I can see her on her knees
from my office. She is weeding my
Sarah’s garden. I watch as she naively
tosses my marigolds away, left over from
the funeral. Hope she keeps the rose bushes
but Sarah’s in no position to have
favorites anymore. Six feet underground and all.
the empty vase on the windowsill
remembering it filled with first purple lilacs,
then carnations in white, pink and red,
once, while fighting, yellow roses
then, right before everything spiraled,
forget-me-nots
and a single
red
rose
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