← v15n1, Spring 2016
Poetry · Volume 15, Number 1

Seed

The way he would have his grammar, the subjunctive

mood he did not learn in school, Claude studies this

garden that will not be, the fact of it

a thick patch of grass that needs cutting,

the fig bush and pear tree. The lettuces

should have gone in first; dark ruffles of kale,

then the peas and beans, the better boys. You could still

plant a gourd or two; you know how to manipulate

a neck so that it becomes straightest handle—

its emptiness for dipping water or feed. And you

linger over the picture of a cotton boll—

one slim envelope of seed you could still order.

Because you don’t know when you won’t be able

to get to town, and you could need to pack a tooth, after all.