these snow-sumptuous and barren vegetable beds
remind me of the coming heat, the gritty sun beat
the fruit flower, green leaves, the canning steam
and i wonder how much we will need by …
Stay informed about your community and support local independent journalism.
Subscribe to The River Reporter today. click here
This item is available in full to subscribers.
Please log in to continue |
these snow-sumptuous and barren vegetable beds
remind me of the coming heat, the gritty sun beat
the fruit flower, green leaves, the canning steam
and i wonder how much we will need by summer’s end
of soil, seeds, sprouts, sweat
as spring gets on, i know it’s not just heat
but light and dark that conduct the spark of leaves
the sustained note of the open bud that murmurs the arrival
of long-light, the firefly-lit, slip of night
and i have these long days to make dirt -
to dig it from a decade of cut and heaped lawn clips
to toss it in the wheelbarrow
to cut in ripe kitchen compost, plus
two scoops of limestone and a pile of rotting leaves
to add a fork of mulch straw, a bucket of farm manure
and finally to slow to sacred-time to scatter a prayer
with a jelly-jar of Lynn Elfert’s ashes - as per
her posthumous request
now to feed pachamama - mother earth
to roll into some shade, to cool the stir and stir
to lean over the deep pan of the rusted garden cart
clenching a claw tool or pitchfork or favorite wooden stick,
mixing and mixing, even drips of salty sweat season
as i shovel, toss, chop this black-batter in- shovel, toss, chop
to build my garden beds, to plant my seeds, grow earth
where at rest, i listen and watch -
the rains release the dirt and split the seed to stem
the sun unfurl the leaves, insects consort the blooms
seeds don their fruit, earthworms eat dirt at harvest.
Comments
No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here