Kneeling in her blue sundress,
She rakes rocky dirt calmly.
Her small-boned hands blistered,
She moves precisely, determined.
How long has it been since she,
Laid-back and calm in the Keys,
Told the story of her youth?
Her flip-flops snap as she walks.
Tonight marks three years
Since her mother’s death.
So short a time ago,
But so long to hold things back.
That week in the Keys,
The last time she saw her,
Had flown by so quickly.
Too quickly for a last good-bye.
Now she plants, surrounded by pines,
Just as green as the tops of the pine trees,
That had swayed as they ate crab.
Not knowing it would be the last.
Her red-headed daughters,
Now run in the field,
Shoeless and playful.
She gets back to work.