Gardens

So many things in my garden are bolting

Racing against death

Preparing a dual departure:

Packaging their life into capsules for the future,

Letting their stalks fall back into brown

In the face of my neglect

The plants perform their dramas

Weeds stake out their turf

Flowers stretch and bow extended stems

Bees and rain bestow their ministrations

Some year, I think, my garden may be tended

Each tender plant well fed

with soil amended,

The weeds, with gentle firmness

kept in hand

The flowers celebrated, blooming

lushly, just as planned

But I’m distracted by another realm

Where, like fennel weeds

My dreams extend their gangly fronds

And wave about, seedy and untended

When I visit them, I have no clue

Which ones to pull, which ones to prune

Or what to do to garner greater flourish

So neither garden gets my full attention

And both grow wild, and dry, and spare

But still, in both, the sun-drenched flowers

Summon me, and touch me there.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 26, 2012