How Our Garden Grows

Yellow pansies for me,
multi-color for you,
then six more
for that price!

Dianthus because it blooms later
and we hope for butterflies
and I like the sound of “fire star”.

Columbine because it is large
and unruly and blue.

And a fourth whose name we forget.
Also blue.

You agree to a second store
because we still need the birdhouse –
The cats would love it.

A smile. A dream.

Later, hands in the earth.
Adding cool, dark, pillowy soil
to the dried dirt and rocks.
Leaving some of the weeds
because if they make it to the top,
they deserve it.

My hands know exactly what to do:
how much pressure to apply,
how to be gentle yet firm,
how to dig and mound and shape
from years of practice with my mother.

This is your first time,
but instinctively
you know, too.

Another smile.

Twilight, cats at the window.
No birds yet.
Waiting for our garden to grow.

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Springtime in the City

weather like silk
just a light fabric
blanketing the skin

even the traffic horns
are a symphony
and the man selling papers
looks new and alive to me

evening stars shining
despite the stoplights

I sleep with the window open
because it seems we only get
two nights a year like this
and here is one

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Sketch: I bought an aloe plant today.

I am surrounded by
sounds
accented by
splashes of color
bathed in
warm sunlight.

Dissonance
of two different birds’ songs
mixed with Mexican folk music
and Spanish chatter
carried on the breeze
rising and falling
with the cherry blossoms brushing my feet
and the charcoal dancing across the page
becoming consonance.

I think it is enough to capture
the essence of the thing
rather than the thing
itself.

IMG_6705

-L