The odd thing was
she did not cry.
not once that year.
I remember the army chaplain
standing in her doorway.
Knowing at once the sad news.
Her son was on active duty
overseas with the Marines.

That summer she worked
tirelessly in her garden.
Day after day
from dawn to last light.
but not a single tear.

Transplanting pruning digging
her shears like a cicada in August..
I do not think
I have ever seen as much beauty.
Flowers everywhere
the whole garden an explosion
of the brightest colors.
but not one teardrop.

Roses hollyhocks hydrangeas
filled the air with their fragrance.
And on the fruit trees
lantern shaped blossoms hung
downwards to earth.
drifting in the breezes.
Falling like the tears
she could not cry.