after my mother died, her belongings devitalized
her furniture merely tables and chairs at goodwill
the flatware just an incomplete service for eight
the clothes now rags crammed into some cartons
free-floating, lifeless stuff left without any context
graveside ceremony, simple pine box, afternoon rain
the following summer, her plants flourished in our garden
those azalea, hydrangea and fragrant jasmine blossomed
once vulnerable, they prospered and assumed permanence
sprouting new roots and branches with assured contours
like my mother, I love to nurture and delight in new growth