The Discovery Garden

Flames.

Explosion.

The smell of gasoline hangs in the air.

Car wreckage smolders by the side of the road.

Helicopter lands.

Seven hours of surgery.

Titanium rod implanted in my femur.

Blood given; burns treated; the ability to walk taken;

three months in the hospital.

Each day filled with lengthy physical therapy.

At last, I roll my wheelchair into my garden.

A new season opens before me and I reunite with my soul.

 

I caress a leaf and my life opens.

I smell the spicy fragrance of a Korean viburnum and

touch its white blossom.

My fingers rub the coffee colored branch;

it is rough and woody.

I hear a bee buzzing noisily nearby pollinating a black-eyed Susan.

My rose’s red petals remind me, new blood flowing

through my veins is now mine.

 

I revel in my summer garden, after missing its spring.

I touch the carnations and press their pink petticoats to my face.

The green grass grazes my legs as if to heal them.

Lavender perfumes the air and seeks my attention.

My beloved collection of nandinas light up like a firecracker,

dazzling, red-faced.

 

Before me lies a long road of recovery to whom I was.

Will I ever walk again?

I discover my garden fills me with the hope of recovery.

I look up and see the sun burst from behind a cloud.

I forget the trauma, and renew myself with the help of nature.

It is here where I begin my journey from despair.

I discover the garden is where my real therapy takes place.

 

Published by:  Creative Voices Literary Journal