Gardener
By Don McLagan (for Laura D. Roosevelt)
Carved from the rest of all earth,
staked, planted, tended, defended,
this chosen piece of turf is your garden
and you are its god. Its sod is mindless
of your school, your degree, bank account.
It is unimpressed by your name.
But the garden knows
the touch of your hands,
your fingers in its soil. Rhubarb,
asparagus, chives tended year after year
like children with birthdays.
Tomatoes, arugula, beans fostered
with the same love, while knowing
they will leave at the end of the year.
In this garden, you are the intimate
god of elbows and knees. Of fingers
that probe and plant. Of hands
that stain with soil, the rot of compost,
the nourishment of manure. The god
of backaches from bending, chipped
nails from digging and scratches
from weeding.
You have carved this turf
from the rest of all earth,
made it your garden. Now
it attends and feeds you,
keeps you safe from all
that is not this garden.
Don McLagan is an entrepreneur and poet who lives and writes on Chappaquiddick and in Sarasota, Fla.
Poets with a connection to Martha’s Vineyard are encouraged to submit poems to Poet’s Corner curator Laura Roosevelt at ldroosevelt@gmail.com.
