Chicano Poet

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

The Enchanted Garden

My grandmother had a green thumb,
she could make rocks blossom,

and petunias sprout from pebbles.
The weeds would rush away from her,

giggling and flinging clods of dirt in haste.
Bugs would never eat her plants,

instead they headed to the neighbor’s yard,
hide if a bird flew overhead,

or rattle rakes in the toolshed,
an inexplicable glint in their eyes.

My grandmother had a green thumb,
the very dirt, if asked, turned into velvet.

4 Comments:

At 2:50 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hermoso.


Esmeralda B.

 
At 4:05 AM, Blogger Jim Murdoch said...

In the UK we say 'green fingers' - lovely little poem.

 
At 9:23 AM, Anonymous anisa said...

I agree, really beautiful

 
At 11:37 AM, Blogger RC said...

This is a poem about my paternal grandmother,she could make anything grow.Thanks,Esmeralda,Jim and anisa.
Always appreciate your comments.

 

Post a Comment

<< Home