It's been a while since I posted a gardeny poem, but here's one now since it's been in the 90s and 100s the last 14 days here, and is thus too hot to dig.
Honesty
There’s an honesty to planting,
in saying to seeds,
here’s what I want from you:
grow.
Grow until your heads touch
the tallest slat on the tumbledown wall
and then bud. Break open your heads
and flower, and when that’s done,
fruit.
In return, I will give you
meal, minerals, the dung of cloven
animals. I will take measure
of your soil and add what you need,
take what I
should.
In January, I will hang you
with leftover fir,
grind trees
to place at your
feet.
I’ll pluck snails from your leaves,
sluggish brown bodies loathe
to part from your
succulence.
I will water you in a slow warm
stream, the garden hose wrapped
at my feet, a gently coiled cobra
who will not
strike.
I will break back
your dead wood.
I will feed you in spring.
I will take only what I need,
and then I will say to you:
sleep.
5 comments:
Love the poem and its depiction of the garden/gardener relationship, the give, the take. Obviously this is an experienced gardener with realistic expectations and a heightened appreciation. Sure, the garden's work, but there's so much it returns.
I love your gardeny poem. Very poetic by nature.
Lisa from Acoustic Guitar Software
I liked it until the sentimental ending. Maybe it's my mood.
Nice. The cycles of the year, the gardener in attendance.
Thank you for sharing my poem. You can read more at: www.katebuckley.com
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