Pulling Weeds in the Garden
Pulling Weeds in the Garden
I won’t let anyone else help me
pull weeds, hundreds of polk
sprouts from a six-foot plant
I cut last autumn
before I decided to make
my garden on the spot,
before birds had a chance to eat
the magenta berries
and scatter them
far and wide.
I won’t let anyone help me
pull weeds in the garden
any more than I would let
someone help me write a poem.
It rained last night,
a gully washer in June.
I took off my shoes
in the garden
like we did when we set
tender tobacco plants,
pegged them in one by one
next to trotline cord or
baler twine,
stretched from one end
of the patch to the other.
I’m barfoot in the kitchen
at my computer,
writing words one after the other
across the page
until the lines have begun
to look like a poem.
10 thoughts on "Pulling Weeds in the Garden"
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. . . writing barefooted, no better way, I say. Pokesallet is another way to contend with the poke plant.
I enjoy Pokesallet as well, but there are many plant outside the garden to chose from for that delicacy. Thanks for reading…
This reminded me of my years growing up in south/central KY. Working in the garden was just a part of every day life.
Dennis, I’m glad this reminded you of your past. In my younger days, we grew large gardens. I guess these days I cultivate poems.
I’m a sucker for garden poems – when combined with writing it’s a home run! This is one of my favorites of yours.
I’m glad I wrote a poem that you chose as one of your favorites. I appreciate you…
I anticipate more poems from you relating planting with writing.
Gaby, I shall try to keep that in the back of my poetry mind.
Do you ever eat those tender shoots of poke?
Very real. Can relate to all of it.