A Memory of Grass
by Maralee Gerke

From Spring to Fall
Twice a week my father
Comes home from work
And mows the lawn.

His blades kept sharp
Trim the ragged lawn
Into a space of velvet
Conformity.

As the days shorten,
He mows in twilight
Sharing the space with
Nighthawks, owls, and flitting bats.

Coming inside,
He tells us goodnight
As we rise early to
Meet the school bus.

Walking out through
The dewy lawn, we breathe in
As the scent of new mown
Grass lingers.



 

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