or like a bride walking
next to my mother down the rows
of flowers, hums of bumbles;
posies in our path we step and scuff:
My mother once found a twenty dollar bill in a parking lot
She has the eye the iris; me arm in
arm with her: not much of a treasure.
My mother loots the bittersweet and honeysuckle and
amber, she asks is this the treasure?
I ask, Where is the garden? Where is my mother?
We battle each other, we fight an army of spirits,
sprites, fairies, goblins
my mother leading the vanguard
we find all the treasures.