From small seeds come the sprouts-
tomato seedlings nurtured on the window ledge,
transplanted and tucked into a larger pot. Growing
stronger daily like the boy who watches
and waters with wonder in his eyes, the tiny
plants reaching for sun as he stretches
his little fingers, finds earthworms, slugs
and pill bugs, all living things at his fingertips, he digs
and transfers his seedlings into the earth
each one pressed in place.
From soil and stems come yellow flowers, from hands
pulling weeds and pruning suckers
come the green fruit, all set
from water, sun and wonder comes
the red globe glimpsed in dark green foliage,
the boy dwarfed by towering plants.
Oh, smell of summer taken in one bite
tasting the round red fruit,
the sweetness, soil, seed and dust, and swallowing
all that nourishes us from highchair to grave.
Oh, such joy to be in a garden with a boy
and our trowels, rakes, bugs and wildflowers,
pathways to possibility, blossoms and buds
no thought of autumn or decay, not today
only here in this moment, we pluck
the ripe red fruit and eat.
“What is your idea of perfect happiness?” (from the Proust Questionnaire Day 25 got me thinking about my grandson, his absolute glee in having his kid-sized gardening gloves, and how I’m happiest gardening with him which prompted today’s poem.
