Hospice Poem by Joseph A. Cilluffo
My son says the garden is dying. Every August, it’s the same. The cucumbers, which had clambered so fiercely up the lattice and across half our garden square, begin to yellow and wilt. The peppers brown. They soften. Tomatoes explode across their vines, manic – they bear more fruit than the days can hold. Look there, I tell him, see that space? Next year’s garden is already growing. Seeds are in the ground, gift of the fallen. We could do nothing and, by June, there would be more tomatoes. He sees, I am certain, in only two dimensions – what is before him, and what he remembers. We could do nothing. Nearby, my mother dies in slow motion, surrounded by four walls, a window she doesn’t look through, cut flowers. All her words from these last, long months wouldn’t bend a blade of grass. We could do nothing. My son and I uproot the cucumber plants, the peppers. I wish I were strong. Eyes will open to the green and new. I try to picture the garden to come.
Joseph Cilluffo has had over 100 poems published. In addition to Philadelphia Stories, his poems have appeared in journals such as The Schuylkill Valley Journal, Apiary, and Philadelphia Poets. He was the Featured Poet for the Fall 2014 Edition of the SVJ, which nominated his poem, "Light," for the Pushcart Prize. Joe's first book of poetry, Always in the Wrong Season, was recently published by Kelsay Books and is available on Amazon.com.
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