I’ve taken a poetry break, but have been drawing and painting a lot.
Today, I felt moved to write another gardenish poem.
All climb and flower, they travel
over two months of waiting.
It rains almost every day
but enough sunlight has gathered
to give us this: strawberries under peas.
I say, ‘these are ripe!’ and my daughter
jumps and laughs. She loves
the pod split for her. A boat
in her hand she takes each pea out slowly.
She handles them as pearls,
her fingers precise. Dappled.
The wind is strong all around us,
new pale green leaves hold tight to their branches.
Maple, oak, strawberry, rose and pea, each distinct
in shape but similar in their swift movement.
Shading themselves and us, they release
so we are bathed in a constant dance of sunlight
and leaf light. There is no pencil quick enough
to capture this moment, and even the camera
moves too slowly. As slow-swift as the pea
growing from the soil, or the child who was
so recently in me. She leans into me.
My body is only here for her comfort,
I know she thinks this. I steady myself
and lift another span of strawberry leaf
to find that which has just ripened
so we may taste spring before it fades.