I wrote this a few days ago and just happened to find out that April is National Poetry Month. Apparently that was all the motivation I needed to share this. With great trepidation, and a middle finger to the perfectionistic part of me that says I should research poetry and refine this endlessly before I post, I give you the first poem of my thirties. If not twenties. Either way, it’s been far too long.
I bury them and always doubt
Tiny spheres will live, grow, inspire, nourish.
They peek out, my heart flutters.
Little one refuses green at the table
Nibbles raw kale from the stalk.
With each plant we pass, “Can I eat this?”
My oldest begs for asparagus from the market
Proclaims it’s his favorite, along with peas.
“Can we please plant zucchini again this year?’
This rhythm- seeds, soil, seasons.
Woven tightly into our life.
These planted memories will grow in wonder, too.