Loading
My mother before she died insisted
My mother before she died insisted
I should have a herb garden
Something in her English soul
amid rough South Africans
Called for the tenderness of mint 5
The old scent of lavender1 and sage2
They arrived in soggy pages of The Star3
With a spade taller than herself
She dug them into my backyard
Before I was ready for them 10
A cigarette tightly in her lips
Explaining chives4 made life worthwhile
That is how she died in her own
Garden of sweet remembrance5
Very frail then with a bucket and spade 15
The size we children used for play
Always finding the sun too hot the soil
Far too dry for the gentler herbs
Today after the long heart-stopping drought
My mother's bed of lost spices 20
Has so flourished I have cut it back
And the mint is in the crevices6 of fingers
The sage under my very nails
And I remember her every gesture.
My mom, before she died, insisted
That I should have a herb garden.
Something in her English spirit
Among the tough South Africans
Wanted the softness of mint
The familiar smell of lavender and sage.
They came wrapped in wet newspaper.
With a shovel taller than her,
She planted them in my backyard
Before I was ready for them.
A cigarette tightly in her lips,
She said that chives made life worth it.
That's how she died in her own
Garden of sweet memories.
Very weak then with a small bucket and shovel,
The kind we kids used for play.
Always finding the sun too hot, the soil
Too dry for the gentler herbs.
Today, after the long, heart-stopping drought,
My mom's bed of forgotten spices
Has grown so much that I've cut it back.
And the mint is in the cracks of my fingers,
The sage under my nails,
And I remember her every move.