Saturday, January 10, 2009

My Garden Is a Graveyard

My Garden is a Graveyard

Last Summer I drove to Eden,
Bought boxes to grow my green.
Filled containers with hope,
So one day I may thrust my hands
         in rich fertile blackness.

Last Summer my son built boxes
Combined them in loving rows
Carried burdens of soil to mix and turn
         Creating the rich fertile blackness.

Last summer's bounteous hope:
Vain dreams of fruits and herbs to fill my family.
Unfulfilled Joy in reaping together
            from the rich fertile blackness.

 Hope died 'mid blooms of blazing cosmos.
Prometheus' gift, our curse.
White hot flames devoured our hopes
and whiteness blanketed my child.
My black empty richness abandoned
to the cries of my boy's despair. 
No herbs bloomed last summer
For billowing fire blasted there
          in the rich fertile blackness.

I soothed my boy's blooming sores
in billowing white Silvadene,
white bandages of arms and legs.
Lathered foaming white on his hopes
and assuaged his pain
while the white winds stole 
                my rich fertile blackness

Now whiteness falls like ashes
concealing the billowing blaze of blooms
Whiteness silences the mocking rose and encases
                my rich fertile blackness
Like a tomb.

Now rows of unfulfilled desire
stretch like graves through my garden.
My pain entombed alone,
under snowy masses. Buried deep
             in my rich fertile blackness. 


  1. Wow, Amy! Did you just write this?
    Just think... Spring is only around the corner. There is hope - always.

  2. Let's just say it is a work in progress--but I am determined to post and not wait until it is right, because last year I never finished my FIRST post. Because of my goal to just get it up--things will probably be a little ugly at first.

  3. What a great blog. I'm so happy I get to read your beautiful writings!!

  4. This is why I was so hesitant to start a blog. My whole family is full of amazing writers!