This is not a garden bench
It’s an inspiring art project built with our hands
using your skill and our vivid imaginations
made of aging corbels rescued from an old house
It’s doors with glass and painted antique knobs
leading to hidden realms if we say magical words
and turn colorful skeleton keys three times
It’s our weathered church in all its beautiful holiness
where birds sing hallelujah to wildflowers and angels laze
watching stone rabbits graze while green lizards play
It’s your strong, loving arms that comforted me
when I wept in our untamed rambling garden
over the invasive cancer in my left breast
This is not a garden bench
This is a heavenly place of rest.
dVerse Poetics: Object Poems
The Reluctant Poet 