Missing Mrs. Gavin
Last week Mrs. Gavin moved. I felt uprooted by
her leaving. She had been Drakewood's historian,
35801's unofficial senior R.A., our resident gardner
and welcoming committee of one.
Mrs. Gavin said after her surgery she never felt
quite like herself again. It was if she woke up
and suddenly she was old.
She never said how old, but if you listened to her stories
about her life and about the complex, you knew
Mrs. Gavin had lived many seasons.
More than thirty years ago, she had planted a tree
behind our building. The last few years, it looked
ill; it was no longer thriving.
Still, we had the best grounds, thanks to her.
Every year she planted, weeded and cared
for her garden. With the passing seasons,
Mrs. Gavin had grown on me.
Seeing her come and go, working in the yard,
talking with her before church or listening to her
explain at length what needed to be fixed
had become part of what made home home.
Mrs. Gavin had become my surrogate grandmother.
Her inquiries and her kind exchanges enriched
my daily routine. Her leaving was like plucking
a piece from a completed puzzled.
Who will I take cards and cookies
to at Christmas time now?
Who will make sure our garden grows?
Prompt at readwritepoem: Instead of “missing someone/something,” maybe you’d like to write about “something missing.” My neighbor really did move and I miss her. She's not too far and I plan to visit her. In between visits, I look forward to working on revisions. I'd like to share a finished draft with her. Before leaving, she told me how old she is, but I won't be sharing that here. :-)
Also participating in Poetry Friday. Find more reads here.