The garden green is turning gray
Blooms lost their way
Old petals fall
While roses loll
Now vines hang low, their faces fade
Rotting nightshade
Roots deep sleeping
Willows weeping
Brilliant light quietly leaving
Lilies grieving
Sun stopped greeting
Life is fleeting
About the Creator
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More stories from Tina D. Lopez and writers in Poets and other communities.
December 8, 1980
When I was six or seven, my stepdad came into my life, and I remember thinking he knew everything. He could befriend anybody, anywhere. In grocery stores, he chatted with strangers over cuts of meat; at gas stations, he bonded with people pumping fuel over how the smell of gasoline was disgusting and yet enjoyable. In restaurants, he took an interest in waiters’ lives—like Steve, whose father was dying of cancer. When Steve’s dad died, my new dad attended the funeral.
By Tina D. LopezExclusive • 3 months ago
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