My Name was Supposed to be Elizabeth Ann

— Stories from the Roads (Not) Taken

All winter she planned her garden. 

Then, when the last ice melted, mud dried to soil rich and nourishing, she  gathered her trowel and cultivator, a weeder thin and sharp, and–hands sheathed in unstained gloves–cleared deadfall around a sapling oak beneath which green fingers already stretched.

2 thoughts on “Why I Wore Green to Your Funeral

  1. c says:

    ❤️ this one, Michele


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