Lucile's handle

I reflect as my finger tips press into
the moist earth of my garden. This is
where I often escape to my childhood
where I helped my mother
plant carrots and peas. Here in my garden
I am a child still. I vividly imagine Dad
coming home from the field. His shrill
whistle meant he was home and waiting
for a hug from his sweetheart. I get lost
in my childhood in the garden and often
don’t want to leave.

The day I first met my husband we were
young. I was 14 he was 17. He was so
strong and so gruff, I was scared of
him. It was my first day in the new school
he was the first student I saw that day
wearing a tan-coloured cut-off
t-shirt, with jeans. I couldn’t take my
eyes off him, but he never looked at
me, not even once.

I think about our wedding day, each and
every day. I always dreamt of the perfect
day, as any girl does. It was a pretty day
we got married in the park. Walking down
the aisle the sun breaking through the
branches of the tall poplars, the guests
smiling at me with giddy joy
I felt beautiful. It was perfect.
Jim then said his vows. He was
cringing as his words said to death
do us part. His eyes
spoke of obligation. He kissed me
but it felt cold.