Mr. Domingo's Garden
Between garage and fence
the garden wakes and waits
for Mr.Domingo's attention.
He fawns in her seasons,
adores her harvest and fallow.
She responds greening for love.
Leaves shiver as he nears,
sprout to fruit reaching
to kiss the old man's hands,
soothe the arrogant arthritis
and the thin fiery bone
that digs and seeds and tends.
Tomatoes swoon off stems
falling heavy in his palm,
peas grow attentive on string,
cukes hide for him to seek
in prickly vines tangled
where fat beets jump
purple from the earth
in the morning damp rows.
I hear him recite Italian,
sing opera as he weeds
or waters the evening bed
chanting his daily prayer
bent beside the fence,
then tip his raggedy hat
to a mockingbird's aria.
Between garage and fence
the garden wakes and waits
for Mr.Domingo's attention.
He fawns in her seasons,
adores her harvest and fallow.
She responds greening for love.
Leaves shiver as he nears,
sprout to fruit reaching
to kiss the old man's hands,
soothe the arrogant arthritis
and the thin fiery bone
that digs and seeds and tends.
Tomatoes swoon off stems
falling heavy in his palm,
peas grow attentive on string,
cukes hide for him to seek
in prickly vines tangled
where fat beets jump
purple from the earth
in the morning damp rows.
I hear him recite Italian,
sing opera as he weeds
or waters the evening bed
chanting his daily prayer
bent beside the fence,
then tip his raggedy hat
to a mockingbird's aria.