← v15n1, Spring 2016Poetry · 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.
