Sunday, August 14, 2011

Grace



i remember those crepe myrtles
fresh and crinkled like origami flowers
tied with grass
sometimes dried, sometimes green

i remember the touch-me-not flowers

round and blushed like a bridal moon
mirroring the jagged lines of your face

those outstretched hands

muddy with picking wild flowers
from the glades, woods, river banks
i remember. 

Copyright © 2011 by Mamta Madhavan- All rights reserved

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