She did not cry.
perhaps that was the odd thing.
I saw the two soldiers at her front door.
one with a chaplains uniform.
Her son was on active duty
in the Marines.
I knew at once
what the bad news would be.

I remember It was late springtime
and all through the days that year
I could see her
working non stop in her garden.
Trimming,transplanting, weeding.
until the evening light dimmed
Into darkness.

I have never seen such
An abundance of beauty.
Flowers and shrubs a color scape
a complete mass of bloom.
The snipping of her pruning shears
never ceasing
like a cicada in August.

Lantern shaped blossoms
cascaded down in multitudes
from the flowering trees.
Like the tears
she could not cry.