sustained

almost summer now
and days stretch, longer
evenings gold and thick with
life open like a window in time –

sunstained by berries
rasp and young, goose and straw
i find myself, last light, in the garden
with wattle and string in hand,
scissors precarious in pocket,

(and it is hard not to be in love here
with this soil this place this earth
with these gods of here
whose names i have never known –
gods who stir and sigh
at the edge of our
living and dying
here
it is hard not to be in love
here)

building trellis and temple
for the tomatoes that grow
elbow to finger tip by the day –
for the purple beans that
are reaching beyond their
cross-weave poles into the guava
and onto the shaggy sod-roof
of the hen house,

purple black sap pods
hang in handfuls
ready for the picking,
firm sticks for jalapeno and brinjal
while the sky seeps into the hill

and as the toad stirs
from its leaf home shallow dug
under the chamomile
for its night toading

i say my thanks close the gate
go inside to cook the beans
chop the greens
eat

this always was
this might always be
this is

---

For Brendan at Earthweal’s weekly challenge: TENDING A DIFFICULT GARDEN

https://earthweal.com/2022/11/21/tending-a-difficult-garden/

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