African Violets
Their mother reared African Violets
orchid pink and near indigo
She pinched deadheads
and ocher leaves fed them
special food by eye dropper
His red hat strung below chin
he played cowboy by riding
the end of the worn couch
roping his little sister until
she yelled Mommy
The African Violets jungled
the back room like a rainforest
Their leaves grew strong
The sun angled just right
even in the late afternoon
As teenagers they watched
American Bandstand
dreamt of being on television
Mom fixed hot meals
on rusting TV trays
The African Violets wept their leaves
A few blooms surfaced
Soil like a dry riverbed
embraced their struggle
Some pots held barren stubs
Their mother died last week
at eighty-seven
Her slight body at rest
The pain of old age vanished
On her grave African Violets
Ryfkah 7/27/02
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