The Boston Flower Show

Each year, spring blossomed in Boston
at the Armory on Commonwealth Avenue

where my mother, in her khaki raincoat
sat beneath the yellow acacias

her hair a paler echo of the blossoms
her eyes small patches of sky

as she watched the strollers
among the miniature landscapes

her own small landscape entirely hers
for the moment…

a paradise far from her rented room
in the Back Bay

a garden filled with sweet scented airs
dizzy with color.

Here, she would return to the lady
she had been, or should have been.

Now, her dreams narrowed
to one afternoon in March

her birthday
among the yellow acacias.

1950s