River
You remind me of me
When I was your age
Three maybe Four
River
Says
"Why are you cutting the pretty yellow flowers"
"They are weeds" says your Mom
"No" says I, "They are pretty yellow flowers"
When I was your age
Four maybe Five
I would cry to my mother
"Why are you cutting the pretty yellow flowers"
River
Don't cry for the dandelions
They are a stubborn beauty
They will live on and be beautiful again
River
Thank you for sharing
Your refreshing water of joy
With me today
© Ruby Neumann
Poet's Note: Written June 8, 2022
It's Wednesday and I just started mowing my lawn and a family walked by the alley by my house. A mother, a daughter, a son and a daughter River came walking by.
River, the youngest daughter, saw me and struck up a conversation. She wanted to know why I was mowing over the dandelions. What a memory came back to me when I was her age asking my mother the same thing.
I showed River and her family my five year old blue spruce trees that I call my Benjamin trees. I planted those trees five years ago in memory of my nephew, Benjamin. I invited the children to touch the new growth. Those trees will grow old with River.
She left behind some flowers she had picked. A lilac, some stinkweed and some canola. She laid them on the trees, much like an offering.
I told her my name was Ruby and that her name River was beautiful and the rivers are my favourite. What a gift today. I had to stop mowing and come in and write something for her.
