I’m taking a vacation with my mother and my aunts.
On their sentimental journey, we’ll visit their old haunts.
I’m afraid I have my worries, but I’m hoping all goes well,
and I’m trying my hardest my anxieties to quell.
Our travel plans will take us from the east coast to the plain
of wild South Dakota, and then back home again.
We’re going in September to see the lovely sight
of brilliant autumn colors falling from great height.
Then their favorite Japanese garden will include a bonsai florist
and an attraction of their youth: the Badlands Petrified Forest.
First will be Connecticut to see the falling leaves.
They’ll rain down on our bodies: shoulders, faces, sleeves.
The tiny bonsai gardens will not pose a threat.
When leaflets fall upon my feet, I will not fuss or fret.
Of these stops on our journey, I am not scared at all,
but I worry what will happen this year in the fall
when we tour the petrified forest. Will its trees begin to shed
leaves turned to stones and pebbles that will fall upon my head?
The prompt words today are leaflet, petrified, sentiment and hope.