When my mother is sad

           she buys plants

Crisp chrysanthemums,
      Swaying sunflowers,
         Sunset roses

A garden of love—

           or maybe growth.

I’m not sure.

      Elbow deep in earth,

she plants roots.

Maybe she’s creating new roots

                                 filling the loss of her family
                                                          ­                 of her friends
                                                         ­                             her home

Or maybe
             she likes to look at the colors through the window
                                like stained glass and rainbows,
                                                       a garden of her own.