The Garden You Made

Maureen Clark

we planted our oak tree saplings

on the same day    our husbands raced

their carts to the garden center check-out

they grew even when we were no longer speaking

and were still growing when we mended

we always knew they would outlive us

our little lives short by comparison

to their ringed calendars

I would not be surprised

if they met on moonless nights

to gossip about us our human foibles

and I wonder if our oak tree

sends messages of condolence

to yours    now that both of you are dead

and the garden you made is gone

In "The Garden You Made," the breakthrough I had was the ability to write in a more minimal style, leaving out much of the detail to get to the emotional truth of the poem.