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Grape Hyacinth

By Sarah Colby

On summer evenings
my father matches his stride
to my small steps and we walk
to the garden and to you,
dense, luminous flowers
he planted just for me. I know
all the purple twilight shadows
are your doing.  They creep
from under your green, leaves
flow across the grass, slide
up the foothills, coax
the evening star out to a plum sky
into which my father lifts me
from cool water and wet earth,
my hands leaving muddy prints
on his cheeks as he carries me
to the warm song of my mother.

I did not expect you to die in winter,
the ground bare, shadows all gone grey.

About Sarah Colby

Sarah Colby was born in northern New Mexico and raised in the Rocky Mountains. She is married to an active-duty LDS Chaplain in the U.S Army and mother to a son in the Navy. Originally from Northern New Mexico, she has spent many years following her husband, an LDS Chaplain in the U.S. Army, all over the globe, a task she undertakes willingly as she cannot resist this particular man in uniform. Sarah’s war-time experiences have motivated her to be a voice for the mostly untold stories of families and loved ones during these years of protracted conflict. Sarah recently graduated from Sierra Nevada College with an MFA in Creative Writing. Publication credits include the Segullah Journal, the Sierra Nevada MFA Creative Writing blog, Honorable Mention in the Gemini Magazine Poetry Open, and New Millennium Writings. She and her husband are currently stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas.

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