her hands

My mother's hands planted these roses.  I took three plants from the backyard before I sold her house but I did it all wrong: at the wrong time of year, carelessly, transplanted from the ground into pots where they'd be shocked and confined.  None of the plants had had much care in the last few years but I wanted to save them, at least some of her roses.  One seemed hearty after the move, one seemed in fair condition, and one looked stricken and I didn't think it'd make it.  I pruned it way back, also at the wrong time of year.

But surprise.  It's blooming beautifully here in the middle of summer.  I'm relieved and touched.