Garden Variety Poem by Holly Jamestone

Roses are the thorns on my hands
During times of pain or ridicule
Violets were borrowing my older
Sister’s purple lipstick without asking

Daisies were the eggs grandma used to make us
Sunnyside-up with perfect yellow middles
And scrawly white outlines that
Glistened in the butter of the iron frying pan

Sweet Peas were the colors of the rainbow
That traced across the sky following the
Grumbling gray clouds that tauntingly
Made us exit the municipal swimming pool

Weeds were the nothings and nobodys
That we never wanted to worry about
Or be or try to be because they
Were simply too hard of a riddle to untangle

Summer garden was my youth
Before the hands of autumn rubbed their roughness on my face
And plowed through my memories as my mind saw white
On the day that I went to Heaven to search for real flowers


Holly Jamestone
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