Gardening the Desert

             Published in Manzanita Quarterly, Volume 3, Number 4, Summer 2001

In this time of pain,

the ground is so barren,

dust sticks in my throat.

I labor to breathe,

But I planted the seeds

I watered my garden all this windy spring.

Oh yes, pain still knocks me down.

The blind executioner

slashes about with his God damned sword.

Doubts and changing times,

friends long gone away,

and restless nights alone.

But look,

the garden is up and growing,

already bearing hot radishes, lettuce,

crisp kohlrabi, summer squash.

Five rows of corn stood the high wind

Tomatoes begin to set on

and melons,

they will be so sweet in this desert sun.

Pain persists.

Dust blows down the desert.

With everything changing so fast everywhere

I may not be here

to harvest these sweet melons so long growing,

watchfully tended.

Still, I dug the long ditch

and brought the water down.

I sculpt the topsoil with shovel and hoe

and hands.

I sing to the growing plants.

The mother of us all serenades me

dresses my basic art with a hundred colors

a thousand insects.

Quail hide behind the cabbages

and pipers in the carrots.

I may not be here for each harvest

of each plant

but still,

I dug the ditch that brought the water down.

I eat of the garden each day

and tend the autumn-bearing plants

with faith,

still new to me

that says I needn't eat of the fruit

to put down the seed,

to bring down the water,

to love the growing plants.