Although I never had a green thumb I appreciate poets who do. Local poet Julie Ebin firmly plants her seed for a poem that blooms.

Local poet Julie Ebin

Gardening, After

I’ve clipped the tulip’s wing.
Get down on my knees,
cup the gash, beg forgiveness
from crowning green spear.

My dirty fingers brush
from its stately stem
first one, then three, and ten
husks of maple whirligigs
to free determined growth.

Near the path, a daffodil
juts up without regard.
That one will survive.

– Julie Ebin

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