|Daddy and me in our Elmhurst backyard|
The tiny garden plot, beyond the clothes lines,
‘way in the back behind our brick row house,
growing up in Queens;
that warm smile he kept just simmering,
his delight in the rows of multicolored lettuce;
the long wait for tomato’s fruiting,
pinching and shaping the plants along the way;
I was drawn to my Daddy like a magnet
and the soft earth between his hands,
both of us getting that zing of delight
as he showed me how to drop seeds in the ground
one by one,
and cover them up with my little fingers.
We might find a fat worm!
I’d watch it expand and contract along my palm,
the worm striving for release,
me caught up in wonder.
On chubby toddler legs, I’d stand mesmerized
by the tightly-closed buds of peonies,
watching the ants, symbiotic,
traversing the globes ‘round and ‘round,
held in that open and welcoming space
of Daddy’s warm-hearted smile.
June 17, 2017
Admiring the beautiful vegetables in the Black Mountain Community Garden, I could suddenly hear my father's exclamations of delight, the brilliant colors, the flowers. I had to honor this aspect of our relationship for Father's Day, a mutual adoration of the Earth.
|Black Mountain Community Garden veggies|
|My son Peter with carrots!|