Gina Ogorzaly Sinking my hands into soilThey morph into the Polish peasant handsOf my ancestors, nails rimmed with dirtCalloused palms, dry and hard.Living on disrupted border landsOf the Carpathian MountainsThey only wished to tend the earthPeacefully, pluck...
Faith Kaltenbach No, not the river city in Saskatchewan.Just a tall bush outside my front window.A juneberry variety called ‘Saskatoon.’ The bush is my wild green view in summer.It makes a bower of this room.Small birds hide from hawks.Delicate spring flowers...
Rebecca Jo Dakota “What’s your birthday wish,My nine-year-old gardener?”“Can I have earthworms?” Rebecca Jo Dakota lives and thrives in Albuquerque. She gets a kick out of gardening, writing, traveling, being a friend, and baking blue-ribbon...
Sheryl Guterl Imagine you are a daisy seed, blownfrom cultured garden to far away.Imagine you land in a vacant lotsurrounded by steel and concrete,hum of air conditioner, and bus fumes.Imagine you root, are wateredby occasional rain, and growto drink the...
Rebecca Leeman Her fingers dig in soilwith an ancestral knowing,back amongst many generationsof green thumbs,shestirring clods,loosening clay,massaging the bugs,and feeling the living ground. Her fingers comb through richorganic matter,the kneading...
