Wednesday, December 5, 2007




There is a road that bears your name.
I wonder if the people who live there
know what a wonderful person you were
or what you accomplished in your short life,
those lucky people who live on ------ Lane.

It is a pretty road, with shady trees,
charming Spanish-style houses
with shadowy niches, fountains splashing,
and magenta bougainvillea
cascading over sturdy white stucco walls,
not a block from the edge of a cliff
overlooking the murmuring sea.

We used to walk near there,
you and I,
when we were girls
on the way to the movies
or to pick out charms
at Ye Olde Gifte Shoppe
for our birthdays.
The land was wild then, thick
with fragrant yellow Scotch broom,
buzzing bees, purple vetch,
and white Jupiter’s beard
along the side of the road
and only a few ancient houses
scattered around.

Now, it’s a cul-de-sac,
safe for children,
named for a mother
whose children were left
motherless by breast cancer,
diagnosed at 33.

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