Time In The Garden

I don’t have an answer
to anything anymore,
not one.  

I can’t remember anything
new.  I can’t remember
what just happened,
though I know 
I once knew that.

I alternate between
ever refreshed rage
at the injustice
of each lost moment
and pained memories of 
what once was,
so far long gone ago,
or so I’m told.

My one present pleasure’s
the garden —

the scent of the tomato plants
when I’m weeding in close
to their thorn-fuzzed stems. The dill
on my hands, the rosemary
in my skin.  How I fret over 
when things will sprout,
grow, bloom, fruit! I participate
in the old this way
while being aware 
that there is a future
inherent in this work.
Gardening tells me
there can be happiness
even now, even as
all else
is slipping off
and falling away.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

One response to “Time In The Garden

  • Eileen

    Wow…..too close to home…….but you’re on target with the happiness found in simplicity and nature. I’ve planted daffodils at each place we’ve lived in the last forty plus years, even here at the apartment, I love passing a field full of daffodils planted long ago by those now gone. Daffodils are my sign of hope.

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