Garden #6

By Sam Ferland

There is someone towards the back,
amidst the rain.
Their lengthy hair is soaked;
presumably they’re a woman.
No umbrella, no bike,
no car, no face.
Just the back of the head and the posture,
kneeling before the rusty, metallic cross.
Deserted from the other gravestones,
but it’s dispatching has no purpose.
Unlike the woman,
who’s purpose seems like it should be explicit.
But it is nowhere to be found.
It’s just the non-existent shade (because it’s cloudy),
that is being thrown on her by the trees.
The lack of animals that perpetuate the
sound of the rain hitting off the granite.
However for her the rain is hitting off the cross and none
of it seems to be a bother to her.