Crepe Myrtle


for my mother, 6/5/27 – 7/20/17

Hot pink blooms dance
in delta breeze, spill confetti
among glossy foliage,
vivid metaphors that mimic
the jaunty scarlet jacket
mom wears within
polished oak casket.

Stubborn shrubs thrive
on soaring temperatures,
bounce back from hard winter frosts.
Mom defied her terminal prognosis,
obstinately endured for months,
refused to relinquish normal daily routines:
getting dressed to meet company,
putting on makeup.

Today we bury her
among husband, mother,
daughter, granddaughter.
In the garden, Blue Lily of the Nile
surround flowering tree,
salute her ascending soul,
serve as regal reminders.

By Jennifer Lagier

red blossoms of Crepe Myrtle tree


The author, Jennifer LagierJennifer Lagier has published ten books and in literary magazines. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, co-edits the Homestead Review, helps coordinate monthly Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings. Forthcoming books: Harbingers (Blue Light Press), Scene of the Crime (Evening Street Press), Camille Abroad (FutureCycle), Forthcoming: Like a B Movie (FutureCycle Press, 2018).Click here to visit her website. Photo by the author.

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