I am a home gardener in exile,
far from my native soil,.
I farm in one huge planter
long enough to inter both parents end to end,
if that were the custom here;
wide enough for six rows –
little emissaries from the vegetable world –
hopeful double winged brassica cotelydons –
pak choi and crimson radish,
slim spinach seedlings,
bright bicolored rainbow chard and baby beets,
glowing green and red above the rain-dark earth,
lettuce sprinklings, tiny hairpin scallions
unfolding with slow determination towards maturity.
Like a frantic squirrel,
I hoard the comforts of the kingdom Flora.
I craft sweet apple crisp
and dress my hand selected salads,
buy in three bunches of chrome yellow daffodils for just five dollars
to strengthen my heart against the daily news,
storing up beauty to inform some sense of truth,
Spring still arises.