Underneath the bluegreen V of curving hollow straws
the red labial onion, opened with deft blade: heart-shaped.
Ready? take them! the small fingers
of pale musty roots,
pulled free.
Slide out one long carrot: it's a big one;
below the healthy green fireworks
the hopeful knob, the stiff length and artful taper
the dismal squirt of rootlet at the end.
Shaken of black dirt: into the barrow;
laid in piles.
Mighty hand mallet sets all stakes a-right.
My pole shovel moves more than that
shorthandled Armstrong spade; sinks deeper
into straw, scrapes gravel from the side:
gets more done.
I stand and turn and stare in my garden aisles,
wet with sweat and spray. The gravity of years
has draped on me my thick disguise
-- gravity of years my ass: it was
too much pie -- my timber reedy,
my vision poor. My hands ache.
But today I feel alive, as waxy strong
as the everhard lad of 17
I once was.
Today I lean and crouch and turn,
even mid-day, when I should be creaking. I am
adolescent zing; come Stacey and Ginger Brown
your long legs in culottes, our sensitive hairs
all zizzy, wrestling at 11 years. Come see me now,
recognize your 4-square partner, upright,
after all.
I get it back, all back, for one long stride
down the center path; I know again:
the half-way point that is always hours away,
the strength that takes me across the sands.
I dive deep to defeat the croc, teeth tight on
Tarzan knife.
Bring me back, from aged mask and soft bed cell, and
I will be the one who survives. That limber adolescent folly.
Resurrection in my extremity; I pretend I am lithe
and handsome again, with filthy bare legs, and my
muscles agree.
It is the blessing of the green around me, the orderly brown.
My knife cuts twine; my hands embowel whole life,
and re-plant in splendid rows. I slop and splash
in gollymuck, and press the firmness of one calf,
with one stiff finger, one coy smile:
Betty Grable among the greens!
Spartacus of the sweet peas!
-- corded muscle, o bright sun, biceps open:
forever Morning Glory.
|~
(photos by Eliana Correll, of my community garden plot, 2009)
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Comments
(this is a sort of re-post: the best part -- the poem -- from a silly post about words and "zizzy" from two years ago. It got 2 ratings, 3 views. Yep: I have been writing on OS for 2 and a quarter years!)
I am reminded of some of my favorite line learned long ago, tho I can no longer recall the author:
"I take a keen aesthetic joy in this new plow
For it will carve dark earth into a masterpiece"
FusunA: Wordsworth! you honor me. thank you.
Tom and Tom: Love the quote, new plow carve dark earth. Exactly!
Incontinent? well, it Depends.
Being out of doors helps. ( thank you.)
Lea: yeah, there is a subtle themes there, eh?
kinda lower p pagan. But is that not spring herself?
thank you.
Anne: well put. work enriches us, new growth carries us forward. thank you.
Rated for a lovely repast of a repost.
and handsome again, with filthy bare legs, and my
muscles agree."
I remember a piece you wrote last year regarding out producing the youngsters, because you know how to make every motion count . . . Here's hoping for an excellent season for you, Greg!
Rated for adolescent zing.
has draped on me my thick disguise
-- gravity of years my ass: it was
too much pie -- ..."
I love this whole poem, especially on a beautiful spring day like today!
owl: an OS'r who remembers my old posts. bliss... thank you.
boan: here's to zing! thank you.
pavanne: gardening is almost "real" magic! thank you.
M/McK: bark with laughter! yay! even better than grin with delight!
And yay today! yay spring, yay crocus! thank you.
sophieh: you honor me with this fine comment. thank you.
__
I must work now (rats!) if I am blessed with any more comments I promise to respond teach and all later...
'Spartacus of the sweet peas!' this could be my dear, dear now 80 yr old husband. thank you for this one alone. (r)
girls in culottes at 11: wish I coulda, but I thought god would strike me dead
Tarzan knife in teeth: visions of Johnny Weismuller!
rrr
Con not . Con coot . Cilantro is a burp hoe.
Cukes, are like cucumber bumpy cilantro.
I love repost. regurgitated. goo goodies.
Yep.
Kris: happy to you too! Thank you.
Con: I can re-sight Pie to 12 decimal points.
It was innocent 11 year old sensations. We had No Idea.
Thank you.
rita: any time, rita. Thank you.
Art: You know, I read your comments more closely than anyone else's. Your word work/play is rewarding. Thank you.
denver: So fail at concealing the subtext here? ah well. Thank you.
scanner: what a day, today! and tomorrow? 70, in March, in the Hudson valley. wow. Thank you.
Steven: I walk a shi-tzu, similar. Thank you.
Bonnie: You honor me. Thank you.
AtHome: Thank you! gollymuck is a Good Word.
dyno: a gracious comment. thank you!