The Dirt Between Us

She believed in creation the way others believed in prayer.

So I came to the garden. Worked the soil endlessly, prying loose stones, carving out pockets of possibility. My hands darkened with mud. Hers always clean.

If only for a single season, I would give her the flowers she desired. She would praise me for the blossoms, then blame me when the roots failed. I accepted that burden. Every time.

But this land was never meant for growing. How couldn't she see that?

When we ended things, it was in the garden of all places.

Every bloom was borrowed time.

Kelsey Flaherty is a writer and photographer living in Cincinnati, Ohio.

April Crumbs Les Brisures finalist