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Wind Chime 

April came and went
You squabbled over
wedding arrangements,
worked a few weekends
to prove your dedication,
settled into your new home.

May was supposed to be
something special.
Alongside your fiancée,
you prepared for the birth
of your first garden,
selected flowers
with respect to available sunlight,
fenced in vegetables
to deter the deer.

Somehow it’s June;
May stole your sister,
who was too weak
to fight any longer.
The area you tilled
for your garden
is now overgrown
with weeds and regrets:
the wind chime hanging
from the back porch,
her last words, and
the flowers suffocated—
all frozen in the still air.

  • A poem by Rebecca Schumejda.


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