right hand pointing

Each spring, Helga

plants their seeds

in terra cotta pots so,

when the nights turn cold,

she can move them

inside the dugout.

As she carries them

to their place in the sun,

they tremble

so thick with orange

and yellow blooms

she can’t see their stems.

In hours, like torches

of orange and yellow flame,

they will light the way

for the spirits of the dead

to their gravesites,

redolent with fresh food

and the warm embraces

of those they left behind.