Voices on the Wind
Voices in the Garden
Deadheading in the Garden of Strikes
by Nadine Lockhart
Dull in my silence, tugging hard at a tight bracelet, rolling it from wrist to forearm. Soft vegetables
on the side of the house—your tomatoes,a green snake, I hear his nostrils flicker like breathing, should
I push harder and down, or twist the bangle stuck on now bluish skin.
Always, recently even, this morning we say nothing, look at the roses, where am I? Scissors in hand, deadheading
the garden. Downstairs at the kitchen table, you read the paper, flipping pages back to front, your eyes follow
as I remove an orange flower, petals drop past leafy stems, surfacing the earth.