in the sunflower bed,
a volunteer potato—
letting it grow right there
Posts Tagged ‘gardening’
One Nod to Anarchy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anarchy, gardening, poem, poetry on May 29, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Alone in the Garden
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awakening, gardening, poem, poetry, silence on May 14, 2017| 2 Comments »
Digging there in the dirt
with small seeds
in your hands
you hear the wind
high in the cottonwoods,
you hear the silence
sown inside the wind,
and the quieter
you are, you hear
perhaps, within you
a call like the geese
that aren’t flying
overhead, a startling
call, an almost
strangled sound
that, if you heard it,
might almost
wake you up.
Transplant
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gardening, poem, poetry, reslilience, sunflower on July 27, 2015| 1 Comment »
Those forlorn, sagging sunflowers,
all morning I watch the severe arcs
of their lifeless stems. Just yesterday,
they were so full of vigor before I pulled them up
and moved them across the garden.
I, too, have been ripped up. Is this why
I can’t stop staring at them all morning
at the slow, slow straightening,
the gradual unflagging of the leaves,
the marvelous resilience
I want to believe I might find inside me
no matter how brutal or well intentioned
the hand that tugs, tugs at my roots.
Pay Attention, Heart
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cosmos, gardening, poem, poetry, story on October 3, 2014| 2 Comments »
After the frost, the cosmos fronds
are brittle and brown. Not a hint
of return. Not a trace of pink. Brown.
Partially dust already. Sometimes it needs
to be this way in order for us to do
the work that must be done—the pulling
up of things by the roots and discarding
them into a pile. No, if there were any green chance
that the cosmos might bloom again,
it would be easier to tell the self a story
about how, with some luck and some care,
the plant might leap back to life.
But the story is a trick ladder,
every rung is covered in oil and even
if you reach the top it leads to nowhere.
Look. The flowers are dead. They were lovely once.
Say thank you. And give the stem a tug.
In the Garden
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gardening, green beans, poem, poetry, slow food on August 29, 2014| 1 Comment »
What a gift
to kneel
in the dirt
and search
beneath
the heart-shaped leaves
for the long
and slender green
of beans,
marveling
at how straight
they are, how
green, marveling
as if
the way
they grow
could not only
feed us
but save us.
Late June in the San Juans
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gardening, midsummer, mountains, poem, poetry on June 21, 2014| 1 Comment »
Just because it’s the longest day of the year
doesn’t mean that the bean sprouts in the garden
won’t freeze tonight. Again. As they did last night.
And two nights before that. So I water them.
I water them real good, for I am still shocked
and delighted that the process of freezing creates
a degree of heat. Every time I consider that fact,
it stuns me. It’s like a joke that makes me laugh
no matter how many times I have heard it.
And though it’s all rather predictable amongst the rows,
what comes up when and what the frost will kill,
it is always new. I never stop marveling at the pure
determination of those tiny leaves as they thrust
through the hard dirt crust. And marvel again at their
vulnerability on nights like tonight when the wind
gets lost some other where and the stars shine clear
in the cold night air and the frost doesn’t care
if I’ve planted the beans again. And again. The earth
spins on its invisible spit and summer goes on
as it always does, different than it’s ever been.
On the Other Side of the Fence
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gardening, love, poem, poetry on August 4, 2013| 3 Comments »
On the Other Side of the Fence
A low fence lined
with wild roses.
Two white chairs
and a round white table.
Scent of a recent
afternoon rain.
Beet greens proud,
crimson veined and tall
and the gooseberries swollen
nearly red.
In this small garden
everything tended.
In me a longing
to love you like that.
