Nasturtium Novice

 Small garden, slow growth, late bloom…

I rest on promises of rich soil,

Touching tender nasturtium leaves,

Longing for ghost blooms,

Haunted by familiar regrets

Like leaf-miners eating away at resolve.

I push back my leaf shields, 

Lift up naive eagerness to see

If underneath, in shade I may find

Tenacity nurtured, and tested and strong.

I build fences for fortitude

And try to resist the winds of weather shifting,

I shift my own footing, trying for nimbleness

Though often wilting, and think that I,

Like my dog, smell rain in the wind.

Gardening is hard going,

And for all my farming ancestors,

I remind myself that I’m just learning

On sharp chicken wire curves;

On bamboo sticks and twine, I’m just leaning,

Bending myself into submission and humility,

Fussing over tender shoots and pulling weeds.