Walk quickly. Don’t look up. The gloves are in
the garage. Take them and a trowel. The bottle of
food for the rose bed. A spade. Walk quickly. Eyes on
the ground. The garden edge needs trimming. The grass
between border stones is tall. Kneel. Pull the weeds
wrapped around iris bulbs. Pull gently, until the stem gives.
Dig gently. Uproot. Feel, feel the moist soil covering
your palms, your soles. Kneel, as if to genuflect.
Don’t hear the mower. Face bowed. See marigold.
Hollyhock. Dahlia. Sweet balsam. Turn the soil to smell
last year’s leaves long under ground. Smell age. Smell the
earth’s thickness. Eyes downcast. Don’t taste the clipped
grass flying in your face. Don’t brush away the clippings
clinging to your cheeks. Kneel, face bowed.
The four-o’clocks are open to sunset. Pray.
—Poetry Motel, 2001