Four drowning rabbits
And a fallen-over, tumbled cherub
Dominate my succulent
Sculpture garden.
Not national or world renown,
Still all mine and thriving,
Treated to water once a week
Based on belief that in a
Rainforest it would be drenched
Then scorched in a natural way.

Virginia is not the Amazon
Nor my friendly solarium
The exotic environs breeding
Species uncharted and uncounted
The orchids, reptiles, avians
Hardly imaginable.
I’ve added cheerful carolers,
Plastic cowboys, religious mothers
Galore.
And clowns, for better or worse
You must have clowns.
Nothing more than a 10 cent purchase
Often free for the taking.

Why?
As in so much of life,
It just happened.
From one aloe to another,
One terra cotta pot to the second
It grew, greeting each day with silent
Songs. I continue with their melody
Day in day out.

Yet,
If I were gone tomorrow or
The day after next,
A clutter monger would not think twice
Of my exotics, their harmonies, or my care.
To the garbage heap they’d go.
No hand of mine, no memory to keep
Them safe.
The weekly ritual abandoned
With a life of discards discarded.
Nothing lasts forever.
Songs are silenced
And friends die.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 24, 2018