along each level something grows
in the garden slanting down
to a tall, wooden fence, all brown,
Separating hers from theirs.
She scatters seeds and refills
All the feeders just in time,
Songbirds come for respite,
and so do I, sitting on the back porch
in the spring sun for a bout of
desultory weeding.
Small conversations bloom
with first flowers, as she names
buttercup and yellow bells.
I learn where she hides her key.
She spies a baby quail, its little
topknot quivers. She shouts to scare away
a red-winged blackbird, one of my favorites,
but here, in her garden, too big, too greedy;
its zest brings no rest for songbirds or me.
Later, a dragonfly visits with wings of lace,
where birds, not words, do sanctify this space.
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| Garden Chairs by Terimakasiho (Pixabay) |
With today's poem, I remember Ginger's garden. You might call it a simple, backyard garden, but it reflected her love of flowers and birds. She spent much time outside, coaxing flowers to bloom and appreciated every songbird that came her way.
Consider jumping right into National Poetry Week. Poetry prompts can be found at the napowrimo website.
Ginger's Garden reminds me of my grandma's love for growing things. She never taught me gardening, but her love of "outside" was caught by me. One of her most treasured "gifts" to us... she collected walnuts in the fall, cracked them, then roasted them in her small oven and gave them as gifts to us for Christmas. She had little money but wheelbarrows of LOVE to share. Like a spring shower, with the sun shining after the rain, your poem brought all of that love back to me. That is a BEAUTIFUL poem!
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