The Garden of my Mother

By Erita Chen ’22

In my mind, there is a scene

a garden of zen; a comforting garth.

Willow trees with soft branches billowing in the breeze,

a babbling brook to accompany birds in singing their arias,

a perfect little world of tranquil peace.

Redolent in the light scent of grass and florals,

this is the tableau of my mother.

The place of my sanctuary,

where secrets are kept hidden in the wind,

where I live in a bubble of happiness.

Problems are easily solved;

one embrace and they float away.

The crystal stream gurgles and

spews out a rhythm;

it is the accompaniment to the birds’ melodies.

Mother is there to support us all,

as the steady beat that holds the song

of my brother and I’s

lives together.

The willow tree’s leaves

are a sweeping blanket,

like her cooed comfort

when we do wrong.

A protective shell

that shields us from sorrow.

That scene is what protects us

from the worst of the dangers,

and yet, when the wind blows,

the blanket of leaves sweep off

and the streamlet’s tempo goes awry.

That is when we learn to make it on our own.

But I know that when we are in need,

the serene scene

will still be there

to give us solace

and

peace.