Collisions of words and weeds

some poetry for garden season

The garden is where I go when I’m feeling unmoored, when I’m not sure what to do next, or when I’m wondering when anything will ever change for the better. Because even though every year I’m sure I won’t have the energy to plant the seeds or the time to tend the plants—or weather and wildlife seem intent on destruction—the possibility of something good growing, no matter what the conditions, keeps me coming back year after year.

Also, gardening is good food for thought and fuel for writing.

So, here are some garden-inspired poems, in no particular order. If they’re found in one of my books, the title is noted at the end.

WHAT THRIVING GARDENS ARE

Collisions 
of water
light
sun
& seed, 
a confluence
of conditions
that align just right.

GROWTH'S PERSISTENCE WHEN YOU DON'T FORCE IT

Years when frost 
comes late, the garden 
likes to show off her abundance 
even in years when rain is sparse
and her tenders give up that label
letting weeds and wildness 
have the last word.

RIPENING

When the berries turn black
you know the time for growth
is nearing its resting place,
and though we tend to think
growth is always desirable,
ripening shows us 
it's just one part of the story. 
Because, after all,
a berry that tries to grow forever
loses its sweetness and 
falls to the ground.

*from Cold Spring Hallelujah

SUNFLOWER

I tried to grow 
ten foot sunflowers 
for six years 
before, one year, 
some confident seeds 
poked sprouts
through ebony soil 
and stretched toward 
their namesake.

That year they seemed 
to grow six inches a day,
until their radiant faces 
towered over me, declaring 
themselves tall enough.

That year the sun rejoiced 
as the blossoms wept 
in gratitude 
for the chance to feel 
what it can be like 
to embody your full 
and glorious potential.

*from Cold Spring Hallelujah

WHAT KALE WILL SHOW YOU IF YOU PAY ATTENTION 

One day as you walk
through unkempt rows
around robust weeds
past that which has been nibbled
by resident wild things, 
you find you want to lament
all you haven't done
all that has been lost
all that may never be.
But you cannot, you see. 
Because the kale has grown
into a forest of abundance, 
one that won't stand for 
self-loathing or bemoaning 
all the work still to come.
The kale is quick to remind
you of all that flourishes
despite persistent worry
that you're never
quite enough.

*from Slouching Toward Radiance

SUNGOLD

There are too many
of you to pick all at once—
after all, we’re just one small family—
though I try to keep up with your abundance,
your sweetness dropping
into my hands, onto the soil, bursting between my teeth,
a taste of summer
that I never used to like but do now.
Now I crave you when you aren’t here
and that makes me glad your season is short—
abundance is sweetest when bookended by desire

*from Just Wild Enough