"her fingers in the soil..."

she loves to sink her fingers into sun-warmed
rich brown soil...there is something so satisfying
about filling a window box, clear patch of sunlight,
or clay pot, first with something borrowed for drainage
small rocks, or broken shells, or even
the porcupine sweet gum seeds that seem so
pointedly useless when scattered across lawns and
driveways like something that will give birth to
an alien species...

then layers of soil and composted shards of egg shell
and tea leaves...a perfect environment for the tender
seedlings she will carefully nest in holes just deep
enough and wide to welcome young roots...then
ever so gently she tucks them in...pressing the deep
brown quilts and covers, firmly around their shoulders...

water rains like a soft lullaby coaxing them to rest and
grow...grow tall and prosper...grow full and fragrant with
a perfume so perfect it makes men weep...grow thick and
rich with color...gentian blues and the delicate petal pink
of a poppy, the chromium yellow of buttercups and the
lacquer red of a chinese treasure chest...

grow she sings as she kneels before them like a mother
by the side of her child's bed...reach for the sun, and
dig your toes deep in the soil...and grow...