WONDERLAND
By Jana Richman
Paradise, Utah, 1978.
Idle hands are the devil’s workshop says my grandmother from the rickety back porch where the locked brakes of a wheelchair keep her firmly idle.
My grandmother’s view: Peace roses trimmed, petal tips flushing. Flower beds weedless. Tulips nodding red and yellow. Garden tilled and planted in tidy rows.
The desert blossoms as a rose.
She cries. I rest my hand on hers.
My view: Blobs of purple and lavender lilac. Honeysuckle death grip on rusted clothesline poles. Porch sacrificed to climbing wild roses.
Yard gone beautifully wild.
Are lilacs native to Utah? After six generations of ancestors have borne witness to Utah’s flora, I should know the answer to this question. I don’t. I only know what’s native to my soul.
Jana Richman is the author of two novels, a memoir and a collection of essays. She lives in Escalante.