when i saw my mother last

her hair a new-grown inch of slate
and silver breathing on her wig-free head,
we said she looked like Yoda. She laughed
and hummed off-key, watered orchids,
pinched a withered leaf, stroked
a spray of fern.

Later, she worked on basket gardens
for the guests (I can’t imagine celebrating
one man for fifty years), nesting ivy, bright
caladium ears, whispering pothos—
all rooted in love, nourished with hope
she herself had lost.

I carried mine home, 800 miles in my arms,
placed it where the sun would gently light
its feathered leaves. And month by month
I watched it die with her.

rachelle rogers

Rachelle Rogers writes fiction and poetry, and is the nonfiction author of Creative Crafts Desk Handbook (Prentice-Hall, Inc.). She has received awards in competitions for memoir, poetry and short story, and was granted a 2002 Artist Residency at Wildacres Retreat. Rachelle also offers a Crafting Fiction workshop, editing services, manuscript critiques and individual mentoring for emerging writers. She can be reached at 828.252.4123 or by email at: rachellerogers@juno.com.