A small patch of irises grew on the boulevard,
Struggling purple irises with limp green leaves.
Trash, rocks and poor soil surrounded the flowers
And a sinkhole had opened up along the curb.
I knelt to shovel away the debris and fill the hole
Before before the irises could fall into it.
A boy of six or seven watched me clear the trash but
The hole was not filling. It was deeper than I thought.
A woman with a baby approached and shouted
"I won't let anything harm my children!"
She was distraught and I wasn't sure if she
Was yelling at me, the boy, or no one in particular.
"No one is going to harm your children,"
The boy said calmly. But just as he spoke
The irises collapsed into the sinkhole,
En masse, as if a shelf had tipped.
I grabbed for the shelf of dirt, pulling it back up.
The irises clinging tenuously, by their fragile roots.
"Turn it over," the boy said. "It is a board
Covered with cloth. And you know how to sew."
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