The Great Small
“I stand in rows anonymous.” Jorie Graham’s poetry jumps into my mind as I dance between lines of mulch. There’s the left lean to the ground with two gloved hands scooping, the black wood gathered up, and then the swing right for the drop in the rich line between planting rows.
I’m becoming a vegetable gardener and a flower gardener. I pat the ground around my seeds, like I did my babies’ bottoms when I rocked them. These are like promises to me, future givers in tiniest form: the basil seeds before the joy of pesto and the helpless wrap of fingers in my hair as I nurse.
… Continue reading over at The High Calling.