The Beauty of Flowers Planted

My garden grows by itself, it has to,

with very little help from me,

very little effort on my part,

no pulling of weeds sprouting upwards and choking,

or feeding of carefully measured fertilizer mixed,

or even watering, my conscious watering rare,

only when I happen to think of it and remember

to move the sprinkler a little bit closer

to my thirsty flowers, budding and begging for moisture.

It’s not out of neglect that I do this, not doing what’s needed,

but out of my minimal gardening skills, skills undeveloped

in my quest for the beauty of flowers planted,

seeds dumped in early spring into the earth churned

and fortified with organic soil, “fertilized,”

as recommended by the florist who shakes her head at me,

at my attempts at gardening, to bring beauty from the soil.

But though I follow the directions printed for us non-gardeners,

directions written and followed, carefully followed,

they are soon forgotten, and my seedlings and shoots are left

to themselves in summer’s passing to grow as best they can,

fighting the elements and struggling against me,

and, somehow, overcoming us, overcoming me.

For there is beauty in flowers planted, life enriched,

life made beautiful, too, my own life, even, despite me,

me and my gardening skills, skills still undeveloped.