1922

Sara said all nice things –

she talked about growing up in a garden with daisies

and going home to a mother who made

sweet potato pie for dinner every Thursday,

and a dad who had a car with three rearview mirrors.

She told stories about her brother in a garage

fixing his dad’s car

so that later that night he could sneak out

and watch a movie showing at the beach.

She talked about how she never left her room

except when she had to eat dinner

and how good of a girl she was.

She said she never had boyfriends.

But she also said something about

a tulip growing in her garden of daisies –

some unplanned turns that knocked her

perfectly clean, white socks out from

right below her small feet. She didn’t say

much about how her frames

went abruptly empty somewhere between

the summer of 1922.

I think she forgot to mention why

her fingers shook every time

she talked about college and a career and

responsibilities that were thrusted

on her without her consent.

But, she had vaguely mentioned,

that everything those days happened without her consent.

She does not want to go back –

at least now we have a choice.

Photo Credit: Swallowtail Garden Seeds Flickr via Compfight cc