Colin, thoughts

Now she's gone to higher places
and left the chair where she once sat,
the fireman calendar that someone gave her
and the bonsai plum in its pot for someone else to water.

It's evening, I'm late, I'm left behind, (cut last I'm)
all the more to sense her absence and all she did, (cut and)
the justice of promotion,
for which she may thank me.

Wow! The prejudice she faced, (No Wow, replace with something else)
because she was a foreigner,
a lesbian,
an amputee - as if that mattered.

She was capable, the best we had - (why not She was the best we had)
her paper clips and envelopes in place, (interesting observation)
her hours over a hot photocopier,
the watered plants. (no the)(end with ,)

The bonsai. They are so hard to keep alive, (cut they are)
but astounding that their DNA seems to know
the available space, how cells divide
the right amount, no more
and still keep leaf and stem just perfect. (no just)

It's funny when you plant them out (I don't care for It's funny but no 
better idea)
how some are stunted,
too late, too tired, too old for proper fruit,
and others grow - in weeks you see the difference - (no and)
leaves like sheets, in decent soil at last, outside,

the plum tree for instance that stands
beyond my kitchen window
blocking my light,
the flower bed from my neighbour's gaze.

All that is nitting.  What I really wish is the poem comes back to her.

Smiles and good luck.

Gary