Kalliope's Garden

I wrote this about my former mother-in-law and the garden that occupied most of her time.

Twin mimosa trees adorn the fence
to the last house on Mount Elias.
Unearthly voices beckon and sing
of floral fantasies ahead,
beyond the turquoise garden gate.
He searched the world to find a dream.
Quest ended, he returns to live
in full Hellenic splendor.

Along the garden path, he walks
between kaleidoscopic rows of roses and carnations.
Westward, by the garden's edge, dill and anise fingers wave
a greeting seen by no one,
while basil, bay, and oregano whisper
herbal secrets to the wind and mingle
with a myriad of otherworldly scents.

Heady from the perfume, he drifts
toward mosaic tiles and slinks inside.
Gingerly, he tiptoes past her room.
To awaken her would mean he'd have to share
a moment - one too many for Kalliope, the mother he abandoned
long ago, toiling in her garden,
childless and alone.

All Kavala knows this place; they gather
to drink in all its beauty, mesmerized.
"Breathtaking!" they whisper,
but Kalliope and her son never catch
a word. He lives inside his music, deaf
and blind to past and present.

Revivified, she scurries
into the sanctuary of Kalliope's garden.
In rest, there is peace.
She is tired.