YOUR ORGANIC GARDEN
Late at night you drown
earwigs off the daisies,
holding them with tweezers
Anything that won't pinch back
gets crushed, buried in a glass.
Like fingers of the moon
you reach beneath the dill,
the eggplant and the spinach leaves --
soft, broad folds flat against the ground
like hats of plantation owner's wives.
In a humble garden,
you're no sinister than any other
woman with a flashlight, or a jar of drifiting wings.
One afternoon we watch
a purple swallowtail hatch:
its velvet wings vibrate
wet from the cocoon
crawling up the vine,
like a plant toward sun, as you bend
back all the stems
just to reach the air.
Poems Neiderngasse, Wind, Rattle, etc.
Danzler Award From the University Of Kentucky for Undergraduate poetry
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