Late Summer

The past is not where you left it. —Carolyn Forché

The earwigs now own
my dahlia—each leaf,
cluster of pink petals,
unfurled bud—
my treasure a shredded stalk
I would not have
recognized last spring,
reminding me the past

does not stay
where I left it—
no matter how
I secure it in memory.

Virginia bluebells, too,
have vanished as if they’d
never blossomed in May,
when the wheelchair
cluttered her hallway.

~Nancy Jesse