Saturday, August 3, 2013

Talking Back to the Mad World : Poem In Your Post

I will not tend. Or water,
pull, or yank,
I will not till, uproot,
fill up or spray.
The rain comes.
Or not. Plants: sun-fed,
moon-hopped, dirt-stuck.
Watch as flocks
of wild phlox
appear, disappear. My lazy,
garbagey magic
makes this nothing
I love
the tattered
camisole of
nothing. The world
runs its underbrush
course fed by
the nothing I give it.
Wars are fought.
Blood turns.
Dirt is a wide unruly room.
                       - Sarah C. Harwell
I spent an hour this morning pulling grass and weeds from the front garden bed, and I'm slowly shifting to only drought-tolerant, deer-resistant, and mainly local plants, but I would be quite content to share Ms. Harwell's practices entirely.  My neighbors, alas, would frown.   So.
I wish all a weekend at leisure, pondering and playing, but not plowing.  Unless that's your preference.
MFB, and it's back to the garden I go,

p.s.  Learn more about Sarah C. Harwell, poet and professor, here.
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