In the Garden

In the Garden

She goes into the garden, kneels
under the cherry blossoms, her feet
bathed in the light of daffodils.

The tulips she began to write about
in October, placing the hard roundness
of their future births beneath the ground,

and just now forming a sentence
that tells us how she can believe
in forgiveness, how the pachysandra

may still grow far away from the sun,
how bees will wake to the smell
of plum blossoms and forsythia,

to the sound of the poem she revises
each day – dead leaves pushed away,
more than sun beckoning to the redbud,

flowers whispering about returning
birds, and her own son, perched
in the open door, trying to learn
all their names.