Petunia

“Petuni’s,”  Grandma called them.

I put them in the window box

lovingly,

as if I were tucking her into bed.

She could lie there,

snug and warm,

soaking up the summer sun

with a quilt of pinks and purples,

laced together with fine green stitching.

My fingertips pressed the earth

around their vibrant stems,

buds giggling like children,

in my Grandma’s dreams.

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