witness

I'm trying to fill my day.

It's 3:10

and I ate lunch at 2 so it's too soon to eat again.

I could work in the garden 

with my big hat and a reapplying of sun screen.

But my garden isn't calling me, though I strain to hear.

I go outside anyway and water my trees.

The beautiful ginko, that  has always leaned back, seems to welcome the additional attention.

I'm lonely, with no one to tell about my day

and about the single white peony that is in bloom

 the one that we brought from our garden in Duncan.

                                    .....................

For a while I kept a small journal, writing about the books I had read.

Yesterday, I found a single entry from 2014, with a quote from the  book "Man" by the Vietnamese writer Kim Thuy.  (apologies for not having the appropriate accents) 

"I heard the echo of her silence, though, and the burden of everything that couldn't be heard. At night, when we used to share the same bed, the sound of Maman's tears sometimes escaped the corners of her closed eyes. I would hold my breath then, because with no witness, sorrow might exist only as a ghost."

You are my witness.