Gift From the Garden

The Stafford Challenge started a week ago, and it has been a lifesaver for me. January is doing its thing, with the full assortment of winter precipitation and a little glaze of ice before things thaw out. I’ve been inside a lot, and taking a moment to draft a poem every day coaxes me to look closely — my personal antidote to seasonal blahs.

Today’s draft is inspired by looking closely at a memory. (And about the hope of Spring gardens.)

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWhen my coworker gave me a squash from her gardenshe held it in both hands,placed it on my desk like a ceremony,slowly, time enough for me to seebrown dirt embedded in her wedding ring.I held it in my lap on the train home,then in both hands as I placed it on my kitchen counter.Over time I watched it change --a small brown spot spreading, softening,melting into the hard vegetable shell.One evening I came home to finda thick white caterpillar emerging,half in vegetable, half in air,swimming its way into the air of my kitchen.I swept the squash into the trash,sealed the bag and carried it outside.I was unprepared,with my own dirtless hands,to share my space with so much other life.