Somedays you have a chance
to give hope hands and feet
or, should I say, leaves and flowers.
With the help of some who know
more than I about planting,
we dug holes in our front yard,
etching out earthy invitations for
heurchera, hellebores; edworthia, and
elderberry; currant, fiddlehead,
lobelia, and white wood aster;
paw paw and — of course — wild
ginger (no tamed ginger, thanks)
to sink their roots and grow into
themselves right before our eyes, as
we go about our goings out and
our comings in, all of us under the
shade of a centenarian pin oak
who has seen more springs and
summers than I will ever know.
Whoever planted that tree never
imagined me digging in the dirt,
sinking roots and hoping for enough
springs and summers to see growth
and leave something behind.