deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Garden
There's a garden in the back, but it hasn't been planted yet.
Through the southern window you can see its nakedness,
bare to the sky, unashamed--
rich black earth, the color of mediterranean olives.
-- it feeds our family every year,
my children with joy; their laughter echos behind
their footsteps as they chase each other through the wisteria.
-- my husband his passion as he tends to the land,
and makes fertile its soil and carves out its shape
with his hands. Sometimes I get jealous,
but I am his muse.
In the summer, a bouquet of herbs perfume the kitchen
rosemary, basil, thyme -- through the window
blending with the scent of roasted garlic and
Campari tomatoes sweltering in the oven.
The sound of the bread crunching in our ears, curls our toes
in pleasure as we spread the garlic over its center.
We eat outside so the warm breeze can season our food
with spices in the air.
In the evening, the garden is where the lightning bugs come
to dance with me. My bare feet dig into the warm earth,
between my toes. The cicadas clash their tymbals,
and the vines sway back and forth like hands around my waist.
--Sometimes my husband gets jealous,
but he is my muse.
The garden in the back is where I grow old. It is where
my roots grow beneath the house, so I can hear the drums
of my children's', children's feet as they run through the halls.
--Where my arms will grow as branches to give shade,
and where lovers will dance behind my tresses.
It is where future generations will come to plant...
in the garden in the back, where love still grows.
Through the southern window you can see its nakedness,
bare to the sky, unashamed--
rich black earth, the color of mediterranean olives.
-- it feeds our family every year,
my children with joy; their laughter echos behind
their footsteps as they chase each other through the wisteria.
-- my husband his passion as he tends to the land,
and makes fertile its soil and carves out its shape
with his hands. Sometimes I get jealous,
but I am his muse.
In the summer, a bouquet of herbs perfume the kitchen
rosemary, basil, thyme -- through the window
blending with the scent of roasted garlic and
Campari tomatoes sweltering in the oven.
The sound of the bread crunching in our ears, curls our toes
in pleasure as we spread the garlic over its center.
We eat outside so the warm breeze can season our food
with spices in the air.
In the evening, the garden is where the lightning bugs come
to dance with me. My bare feet dig into the warm earth,
between my toes. The cicadas clash their tymbals,
and the vines sway back and forth like hands around my waist.
--Sometimes my husband gets jealous,
but he is my muse.
The garden in the back is where I grow old. It is where
my roots grow beneath the house, so I can hear the drums
of my children's', children's feet as they run through the halls.
--Where my arms will grow as branches to give shade,
and where lovers will dance behind my tresses.
It is where future generations will come to plant...
in the garden in the back, where love still grows.
Published 10th Jan 2024
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7
reading list entries 2
comments 12
reads 176
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
10th Jan 2024 5:15am
Dear JM,
You paint a wonderfully vivid, image filled portrait in this poem. It exudes warmth and love and brings in your reader. Welcome to DU. Lovely write.
H🌷
You paint a wonderfully vivid, image filled portrait in this poem. It exudes warmth and love and brings in your reader. Welcome to DU. Lovely write.
H🌷
12th Jan 2024 6:30pm
10th Jan 2024 5:55am
12th Jan 2024 6:30pm
10th Jan 2024 6:14am
Very nice..
In the evening, the garden is where the lightning bugs come
to dance with me. My bare feet dig into the warm earth,
between my toes. The cicadas clash their tymbals,
and the vines sway back and forth like hands around my waist.
In the evening, the garden is where the lightning bugs come
to dance with me. My bare feet dig into the warm earth,
between my toes. The cicadas clash their tymbals,
and the vines sway back and forth like hands around my waist.
12th Jan 2024 6:31pm
this made me feel like i was being hugged with wonderful memories of my own.
10th Jan 2024 2:18pm
Thanks for taking me into the garden and walking there too...so real. Hugs and peace, Oral
10th Jan 2024 10:33pm
12th Jan 2024 6:32pm
13th Jan 2024 5:50am
27th Feb 2024 00:59am
Lovely spill, truly wonderful in all the sense of family, love and growth. May it render many fruits for a long time.
Great work.
Great work.
