In the garden
I bury the remains of the mothers -
The fish whose bones line the roots of my tomatoes-
That is how I pray
I kneel in the soft earth and look
Through the lattice of dark green leaves
There, yellow as buttercups in the sun,
Incipient fruit
Await the annunciation
I can already sense the bulging clusters
I take my well-sharpened scissors
And make space for the new life
Carefully pruning away the excess
To leave the essential
Isn’t it so with life?
I did an experiment once
I let the tomatoes grow
