My front yard has an empty
space. But, its gate, I assumed was well                                                             ­     

built, surviving the unrelenting Minnesota
frost, nothing is wrong with my fence, my upbringing,

I thought. Mom and Dad put the posts
down. Dad sacrificed hours in its landscaping

green, lush foliage all around, his creative
touch, passionate, instilling taste and inspiration

and, even if the fence was a little crooked,
because of the wine glass constantly in his hand,

its ok. But there was that empty space,
and aching with a dreamlike gaze

there I saw you,  come here.
you were a sunflower so sublime, I quickly

planted you. Young girls with
innocent hearts, stop to admire you

in my yard. Your charm, beaming. How
fast you grew! The nourishment

from an insecure heart like a
miracle grow. I knew, my yard would simply

be seasonal. Two months
and your bright petals fade into

nonexistence. Even after you
felt my hands pressing, settling you


In the soil. I thought. That I was your September
blossoming Aster, Venus’s Flower ,

The purple petals are fragile
I don’t grow like I’m supposed to

creeping so that you won’t see
me, going to class. watching you from afar.

Now, I am shoveling in the Texas heat, turning over
the soil, wanting your roots to go away.

The sun beating freckles
On my face.  Working so desperately

so my yard can transform, grow
into what I have always dreamed, love complete.

Where a butterfly gently graces my fence,
because this is where my miracles can happen.