Do you know how to get on your knees and dig in the dirt? How to plant summer squash and basil from seeds, how to water them regularly, and how to wait for the first tendrils to rise from the earth?
Have you ever marveled at a radish bulging out of the soil? Have you ever stood at the kitchen counter, sampled a slice and laughed at its awful taste?
Have you ever sown rows of zinnia, delighted in their growth and discovered that, days later, your tiny sprouts were gobbled up by rabbits? Have you ever cried over plants, or people?
What do you know about heartbreak? What do you know about peace?
Do you know the joy of sharing a perfect tomato, the one you picked at first blush, then let ripen on the counter? One bite could transport you to heaven, briefly.
Do you know how to keep coming back to your garden, how to rip out the crabgrass and the clover — all the invasive weeds that crowd out the healthy veggies — how to make room for all that’s beautiful and true?
What do I know about growing vegetables? A whole summer’s worth. Practically nothing. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m still learning. Gardening, it seems, is part tending, part trusting the sun to do its work. I surrender. I’m not afraid to kneel in the dirt.
Category Archives: poetry
Who I am
I am the lark and the lion.
I know the sound of my voice.
I am the poet and the muse.
I am the author and the editor.
I know the depth of my voice.
I am the peaceful pond.
I am the gentle river.
I am water flowing,
turning,
picking up speed,
taking up space,
surging.
I am slamming against the dam.
I am the dam breaking.
I am the life-altering flood.
I know the strength of my voice.
Mother at risk of disappearing in children’s messy bedroom
Too-small pajama pants clog
my sons’ dresser, atop which
a blue sabertooth tiger crouches
in a jungle of Pokemon cards
that may never be organized, banked
by my oldest’s treasure box whose key
is mysteriously missing (I suspect
his little brother), and that is just one spot!
Plastic boxes, once organized with toys, spill
out of twin beds’ underbellies, library books litter
the floor, dirty laundry clutters unmade beds,
picture books are uneven teeth hanging
off the edge of the bookshelf. God knows
what lurks in their closet —
the sheer volume of stuff might bury me.
“We have to figure this out,” I sigh,
squeezing freshly folded pajamas in a sliver
of one drawer. My husband just chuckles.
Doesn’t he feel the trappings
of our children’s junk?
Sometimes my life feels like this messy room,
no matter how hard I try to maintain
a tidy exterior, clutter always finds me —
I have ideas that no longer fit hidden
in old shopping bags, regrets overflowing
from the hamper, insecurities stacked beneath
the bed. I’m afraid of what you’ll think when you
see me. You ask if I’ve heard of The Life Changing
Magic of Tidying Up? I have
a hard time letting go.
Someday soon I’ll brave their room to edit
and sort, edit
and sort, but I must remember
spring cleaning has its limits
tidiness always comes undone
there’s no easy way to hide
your humanity.
Believe women
The ones to break
news of Jesus’ resurrection
were the women —
Mary Magdalene, Joanna,
Mary, the mother of James
Jesus approached them in the garden
when the women spoke out
some did not believe them
Even now, women speak truth
and many refuse to accept it
My most sacred confessions
have been to women
When I was dead inside,
women resurrected me.
They said I believe you
It wasn’t your fault
You are good
I couldn’t believe in myself
but I believed them.
How to survive the end of winter
Plan out your garden,
Imagine basil, tomatoes & peppers,
Try Thai takeout from a new restaurant,
Submit a poem — or three,
Don’t mull over rejection,
Celebrate your courage in trying,
Book flights for a spring break trip,
Stargaze on your deck,
Pick out new sneakers,
Instead of boring, old white choose jade green for
good karma,
Pray for peace on earth,
Vox your girlfriends,
Send them snail mail, too,
Gift old baby books to expecting mamas,
Invite friends over for dinner,
Walk the dog in the cold sunshine, even when you don’t want to, feel the wind bite your hands, feel more alive, feel grateful to be moving,
Drink decaf with a swirl of whipped cream,
Organize a messy drawer,
Donate old toys & jeans that don’t fit,
Buy your kids Lucky Charms for breakfast,
Buy yourself tulips,
Center them on the kitchen counter,
Marvel at their blossoms — the way they guzzle water, unfurl & reach for the sunlight,
Keep the faith: spring is coming,
Even now, you’re blooming.
Erin Strybis 