(Sacramento, California, late September)

Though her roses still have blossoms,
many look weary, as are we

who have weathered with her the loss
of her dearest friend in May,

she shouldering most of the aftermath,
though she will never take credit for that.

But on an unseasonably warm Wednesday
she hosts a garden luncheon to thank

some of the people who came to help.
We don’t know anyone at the table but her,

though we’ve often been guests
of the two women who’ve been part

of our lives for more than four decades.
Now we are finally properly introduced

to some of their nearest and dearest
who, like us, rallied round in ways

we think of as small. But there is
no small after a loss so huge,

our beloved dead friend might say,
she so grateful in her final days.

And just before we leave, I walk the slate
path strewn with petals from Leilani’s roses,

some giving way after giving their all.
I’m surprised, as always this time of year,

by how many are holding up well,
a few new buds, pearly pink, life life-ing.

Just like our dearly departed,
one who so embodied liveliness,

still blooming all around us.

•••

(For Leilani Hu Yang in memory of Patricia Beach Smith,
with love from Jan and Dick)