In the Garden with Pam
September’s curtain call—raspberry harvest.
Her green irises punctuated
by pearl bangs and viny crops.
Palms meet fruit at their birth.
Fingertips christen ripe apples,
A lawn green bug lands in her hair
and I don’t want to tell her
because it matches this portrait.
But, also, because if I were a bug,
that’s where I’d make home too.
My childhood dogs and grandma spend years
trekking my dreams.
Moni no longer bound by shotty limbs—
prancing on walking feet
across my preschool courtyard.
Hannah gallant in sun embedded to her brown fur—
tells me she’s sorry it’s been so long.
Jean posed at her oak kitchen table—
mouthing words slowly, as if we have forever.
I decide they are no longer delusions
no longer fantasies.
Something holy is touching my body under coma.
I pray heaven pours itself down my throat.
I canvass them about afterlife
and if they can visit again tomorrow night.
Answers come as silent bells.
Still and all,
I hold on, to
—Published 18th of October 2022
About Kelli Lage
Kelli Lage is earning her degree in Secondary English Education and works as a substitute teacher. She is a poetry reader for Bracken Magazine. Lage’s work has appeared in Maudlin House, The Lumiere Review, Welter Journal, and elsewhere.