By Keith Kavii Hatcher

I followed the path down to the old garden
Where flowers at play awaited my coming;
I anointed them with water, then all of a sudden
They disembarked from their folly
And stood rigid,
Like children holding their breaths for a group picture.

I carefully prodded their roots, then turned their soil;
The flowers at play began to wiggle.
I was their mother changing diapers;
They giggled mercilessly, tickled by the touch
Of the prongs.

I browsed the garden and selected four.
Hibiscus mocked tulips, roses nudged violets;
Their smiles reached across the entire garden.
“Choose me, choose me;”
They were all my favorites, how could I?
I regarded each as a prized possession;
When all was done, each bid the others a fond farewell.

Up the path from the old garden,
I cradled them toward their new sanctuary.
Into the airy pantry, onto the bay window sill
I lowered the young ones/Into the unbreakable, plastic vase, then
Fixed their collars, and told them how proud I was of them.

They “Oooed” and “Ahhed” at the view below.
My auntie entered; little attention paid to the newcomers.
Then, on cue, the flowers chorused,
“Good morning Auntie.”
We all laughed a cascade of tears.
After all, these were flowers at play.

KEITH KAVII HATCHER is a devotee and Sanskrit student at the Hollywood Vedanta Society. A former classroom teacher, he recently received a Masters degree in Multicultural Education.

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