Yes, I Do

I tell myself

I live here, yes, I do.

I plan for new flowers.

I plan to save bushes ravaged

by aphids, by dog pee.

I am not a bird that flies

from my mother’s death.

My feet are rooted here.

I will transplant myself

with new flowers,

turn my face from the fall.

I tell myself

I live here, yes, I do.

But not for long.

I will wither and fade, be someone else’s loss.

published in Write Under the Moon