A Year of Seeing: January 2: “The things that are sown”

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The things that are sown


My grandmother grew roses

in the hot Arkansas sun

with my eyes fixed on her

walking through her garden

with ranks of pine trees

towering like rooted columns

in our private cathedral that was

censed with sweet, dripping resin

with a carpet of St. Augustine

pushing between my toes

put off thy shoes from thy feet

as our procession continued

with her dropping seeds that

took root and spread life and

beauty that rose in her wake

and as the garden causeth 

the things that are sown 

in it to spring forth

with the prayer flags of fresh sheets

catching the wind and lifting

like bright, crisp sails marked with

faded flowers announcing to all

that we were loved.

Now I grow roses…





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