It is deliberate work
thinning the carrots,
the fingers slowly traveling
the row. It is right
that it should be careful,
unweaving the slender
green stems, choosing
the sprouts that will stay,
tugging on the thin white threads
of roots that must go. It is right
that there is tenderness
in the hands as they do
what need be done,
though the work
is non-sentimental.
Where there are too many,
none will thrive.
There is room for this fact
in the gardener, though
it is easier, somehow,
to pretend that there
is no metaphor
worth noticing, just
the task at hand, giving
each carrot enough room
to grow. They’re just carrots.
It’s just a garden.
The metaphor is unpalatable but apt – a good bit of what’s wrong in the human garden is due to sheer numbers in too little space
Great poem – a keeper – a reminder – provoking compassion within the compression
Compassion within the compression indeed!! Great comment yeah, I would rather not see it, but I see it, I see it I think I have dozens of thinning the carrot poems. Every year it strikes me
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Sunday, June 12, 2016 at 6:43 AM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “Nantes”
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The ordinary rises quite a bit at that metaphor line for me, the detail enhancing it. Or, as Bugs might say, What’s up, Ros”