But These Here

Mom and I duck through the lilacs,
clipping different shades for a vase for inside,
for greater growth next year.

Around the garden, I point and ask,
Are these perennials? She says yes and no.
But, when she says no, they’re annuals,
she points to a perennial and says,
but these here—those are there—
the hostas will bloom next year—
the magnolia.

It doesn’t take much to remind me
what happens in time, and I always mistake
the everlasting for the eternal, but next year,
that day of first smelling the season’s lilacs,
I’ll know that it’s that time—
they’re here again—
how quickly they’ll go—
Yes.