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Gardening

your face polaroid happy glowing not half so distant.
     
    walking over to grab the shovel and rain filled 
    bucket near the gravel driveway. 

    i watch your hands digging quickly 
   pouring seeds out as you go.

    we bury them together, in rows just like the way
    my mother used to.

     infant tie. ....   tile back to the time we heard all those
   simple things. when we played in the dirt and  grew simple 
   things like arms and legs, eventually even a mouth. 

 but first came the eyes yours seem brighter
  than usual today. 


now  we rush to bury the rhubarb and the turnup's 
next to the south side of the house where you 
planted the carrots the year before.  

it is foggy outside and the ground is cold.

  your hands are muddy with the dark soil and you 
are talking about how you used to go to this 
abandoned armory along a sandy grass filled 
jetty near the tip of the puget sound.

 you said it was a safe place for you and 
that it was always foggy just like this morning.

  you look up at me with a look that makes me 
  feel very still and introspective.

 i wonder am i that armory for you now?

 can i be that body of metal and cement
 not cold but alive.

 can i regrow simple things, simple arms
 and legs that care for you.

  is it to late to bury a little hope at this time of year?

 rebar ribs crack to the touch.
 i take a deep breath in and look 
  over at the back yard.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011




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Date: 2/10/2011 8:26:00 AM
Very nice poem...Jimmy
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things