Poetry Sunday: Talking Back to the Mad World

When I read this poem in this month's Poetry magazine, I thought, "Finally! Someone has written a poem about my philosophy of gardening!"

Yes, I admit it. I am a lazy gardener. I love the way my garden cultivates and arranges itself - with only minimal interference from me.

Talking Back to the Mad World

I will not tend. Or water,
pull, or yank,
I will not till, uproot,
fill up or spray.
The rain comes.
Or not. Plants: sun-fed,
moon-hopped, dirt-stuck.
Watch as flocks
of wild phlox
appear, disappear. My lazy,
garbagey magic
makes this nothing
I love
the tattered
camisole of
nothing. The world
runs its underbrush
course fed by
the nothing I give it.
Wars are fought.
Blood turns.
Dirt is a wide unruly room.


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