Thursday, May 21, 2015


Now that the vegetable garden is in (two rows of filet beans)
my weekends days begin to ease (onions, garlic).
I may forego the hose (six staked tomatoes)
and instead lug an old water can (hill of cucumbers)
from spigot to spaded soil (hill of zucchini).
Not a bench, but an upended log (pumpkins, parsley)
for garden meditation (scattering of carrots).
If I'm lucky, the cats will sit with me (cosmos, lemon gem marigolds)
and my days will be anchored, grounded by this humble patch of earth.


  1. this describes the garden the love of gardening and of cats perfectly and bonked me in the head the way poetry does when it does what it does and I thank you for it this morning a cloudy Saturday with earth dug up but not yet planted.

    1. r, I have to tell you, after I posted this, I woke up the next morning and thought, I'm going to delete it. It felt, oh, I dunno, too precious. Like I couldn't really get into the teeth of what I wanted to say, felt like garden fluff, like those seed pods from the tree-whose-name-I-can't-remember that seem to be floating everywhere these days. And then your comment yanked me back from the cliff of self-doubt. "Thank you" seems too anemic a response, but here you go: thank you.