Bury The…. Poem PAD April 30th, 2015

Well, I made it! Thirty poems in thirty days! This is the third time that I’ve completed the challenge. I did not post all my poems here, but most of them are. I’ll be taking a break and catching up on my other work for the next few weeks.

This poem was poignant and appropriate to write at this time, when planting and preparing my garden for the season.

Bury The Roots

“Work the soil,” my dad said, stabbing

it with a shovel, “and then add compost.”

We stood together, our long shadows

crossing the hole, two-and-one-half

times the size of the root ball. The loamy

soil smelled of worms and fertilizer. I sniffed

a few clumps of dirt before breaking them

with my fingers and dropping them back

into the hole. We lugged the pear sapling

to the edge, wheeled it around, and pushed

it in, shoveling more dirt into the hole.

“Cover the roots,” he said, “or it will die.”

He gave me the hose and I watched the water

fill around the base of the tree, while he watched

me, his face backlit by the orange sun–––

our shadows tall, parallel silhouettes.

Years later, I would look into a rectangular

pit, smelling worms and freshly-dug soil.

There would be one shadow, no pear tree.

Kim King ©2015


About k2king

Francophile, writer, poet, and mother of Samoyeds
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