I gather roses before Solstice
For my mother, 89. Together
We write an acrostic for my friend,
Amy Trachtenberg, now
Turning 50. I say the letter,
She imagines the word:
Attendant
Merciful
Young
True
Rain
Attitude
Comfort
Heaven
Tingle
Everywhere
Never
Baby
Excellent
Ready
God
Alternatively I read aloud to her
"The Tibetan Book of the Dead."
"I don't understand a thing you are saying"
She says, "But I like the sound of the words."
"Do you accept God?" I ask.
"I am not one to accept anything
I cannot touch, feel or see,
And know to be true."
We look at the high, alabaster vase,
A flotilla of unfurling petals, blush pink,
and white. "Do you like the roses, Mom."
"Oh, yes. Aren't they beautiful?
Don't you love them?"
Stephen Vincent
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