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Flower Delivery

When the weather was sultry, on a day where the sun was suspended high above and blistering the Earth, my beau and I spotted a lonely sign on an equally lonely road: “Shiloh.”  This was a spur-of-the-moment adventure.

We drove along a winding, curving, canopied asphalt road, searching for the cemetery, examining each fork in the road, turning this way and that, until the entrance appeared:

This was a small cemetery, not as old as I imagined it would be, but still peppered with graves as old as 1896 and as new as last year.

Walking alone, I stumbled on a bouquet of yellow silk roses, lifeless on the dusty earth, its jaundiced petals immobile, even in the slight breeze.

Looking left and right, I saw no close-by grave. To whom do these belong?

I picked them up, and at the first grave I spotted – a solitary, lonely headstone – I dropped the bouquet and said a prayer for someone’s mom.

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.

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About Susan Marie Molloy

I am an observer, a writer, and a poet. My latest poetry books, "Indigo Fantasy," "Life in the Oasis," "Gallery Night," "God of the Sea," and "Grapes Suzette" and my short stories, "The Green Gloves" and "The Crowd of Turin" are now available on Amazon. Check them out. Buy them. Read them. Send me your thoughts. I look forward to hearing from you. View all posts by Susan Marie Molloy

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