by Barbara Leyhtel Rohrer
We honored our Catholic heritage
with picnics in cemeteries
on All Souls Day, sang “Hair”
at the top of our lungs driving
across the bridge, wedged
the little blue table we found
into your hatchback
–– I eat on it to this day.
The Golden Rain tree you planted
in my front yard rains deep yellow
blossoms in June, feeds hundreds
of honeybees. Every year,
my flower beds are full ––
sprouts of your tree’s seedlings.
Originally published in Soul Poetry, Prose & Arts Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 2, Spring 2025, 104.
Image source: https://tinyurl.com/y4h5jmwv