Seven days
since the first green nipple appeared
from the underworld of water and root.
Seizing the stone wall,
hitch and latch, knit and purl;
green parachute leaves,
hook upon hook nailing the air,
over the canopy’s arc you climb.
White flower funnels;
amber bees roll dusted and fragrant
-wild honey, sweet syrup of labor.
This extravagance of life
is a deep breath in the cycle
of brown roots, withered tendrils
and winter’s watchful eye.
May Swenson’s A City Garden In April is the inspiration for this poem…her’s is so much better.