Thursday, May 19, 2016


For all planters of seeds

Water clumping drops
Tread heavy on my garden,
As its greenness explodes,
Late this spring but sure.

The pea vines, tangled,
Knotted, flattened, pressed,
Struggle to stand and face
The bully’s quenching weight.

I placed a ladder there,
Above their leveled reach
For them to reach for,
And to pull against.

Lifting one up, myself,
Proved futile; they must
Have a spine, still stiff,
Though the rain bent it.

True gardeners, having seen
Before, remembering
July’s flowering harvest,
Move to other meddling.