Mr. Walton by Urmila Rampersaud

I last saw him that Sunday.

Sitting on an old pine log like a nuthatch
staring at the white morning glory in his garden.

With quivering hands, he waved as the passersby called out, “Mr.Walton”.
Words bounced off his lips but never reached an ear.
He smiled as two squirrels ran pass him with frightful feet.                                                             

Clutched the sliver dolphin handle of his cane and,
retreated to the house scuffing his wrinkled loafers against the pea gravel.                                                           

Now, I see the pine log host the squirrels
and nutsedges mingle with the morning glory. 

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From being a small-town country girl in Guyana, Urmila Rampersaud now navigates the endless possibilities in New York City. She enjoys learning about and experiencing new cultures. She believes if you explore your potential in times of uncertainty you will find what you least expected. You can find her on Instagram @ramperur_22.