at the little grey house on the corner
the spirea has begun to bloom,
delicate white blossoms creeping mistily down its long, slender branches.

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
at the little grey house on the corner
the spirea has begun to bloom,
delicate white blossoms creeping mistily down its long, slender branches.
after weeks of dry weather —
or merely a tease of moisture in the form of fog
or snow or sleet or drizzle —
the spring skies have finally broken open
in the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill
if i had any rage i took it out on the lily bed and its web of ingrown roots the fruit of thirty years of spawning tigers i scythed and hoed, slicing through sod separating innumerable worms from their other ends and cleaving through the rusty orange roots that choked the ground until, at last,…
Read Morethe sharp blade pierced the greening grass
and shovelfuls of soil revealed wakened worms
shrinking away from the light
this afternoon i have been digging the japanese iris out of the vegetable garden
and stuffing the muddy rhizomes into grocery sacks in preparation
for the making of their new bed
we planted the peas today
rolled their plump green bodies
into the black bacterial dust
gardeners call inoculant
and then tucked them one by one
under the soil
what is the grub worm?
a blind, bloated, pale, writhing, wriggling mess
to the worms in the garden bed —
Read MoreI love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. — Ruth Stout It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. — Charles Dickens In the…
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