Featured Writer

Poem for Ruth Stout, gardener

Kay Thornton-Fitts

Mother grew peonies
I wrote that years ago
she grew pink ones
now I have one white peony
huddled up close to the deck
my husband calls a porch
I try to protect it
from the others
who grow ferociously in my beds

If I could be a flower
I would be a single white peony
holding hands with Ruth Stout
as people walk by and gasp at our beauty

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