Another Year's Garden

Another Year's Garden

I did not like the work it took to make a garden
sweat oozed from my scalp in the sunshine
fingernails were stained with earth
knees protested at the ups and downs of planting seeds
I poked and patted soil flat with my hands
each row accomplished gave me growing pleasure

today I think about my task complete with pleasure
yesterday’s hard work, my planted garden
I’m ready to admire the work of my own hands
I stand, sore, shouldering my hoe, in sunshine
seeing weeds that germinated, not the seeds
I carefully laid out and covered with wet earth

a dozen first leaves nose up through rich earth
remembrances of last year’s crop a pleasure
successors of spent sunflower seeds
assert themselves once more in this garden
urged on by watering and warm sunshine
they were planted, not by mine, but by God’s hands

reluctantly I pluck these invaders with my hands
extracting them from incubating earth
where they blatantly soaked up the bean seeds’ sunshine
soon to shade new wanted seedlings out, no pleasure
in the thwarting, only following their nature in the garden
where anything can grow, given sun and rain and seeds

each day I go and hoe and look for vines from seeds
imagining beans and zucchini in my hands
when all my work comes to fruition in the garden
careful of the newly sprouted plants I work the earth
yank weeds with abandon and with pleasure
skin and muscles now accustomed to the sunshine

any day now I will smile in leafy sunshine
see the miracle of life, the smells and flavors sprung from seeds
pick, devour a warm tomato—ah, what pleasure!
the fruit of all my labor I will hold in my hands
thank God for the bounty of this earth
one more year to plant and glory in a garden

tomatoes and melons, sunshine in my hands
enough for seeds of neighborliness to spread on earth
if I share my crops, my pleasure from my garden