The Garden

Her nails black as the blackest man
with coolness of the coolest earth,
she digs into the healthy ground
sees death, conception, life, birth.

She works with a flock of blackbirds
imagining sunflower corn.
Spring wells with hope of plenty
from humans to the worms.

At the fence stands an aging stallion
eyeing the seeded furrows.
She plants extra carrot seeds
and wonders if he knows.

Hands move in rhythm with sleeping sisters
she delves and sows and covers seeds
and weaves the cloth of discipline
of nurturing and need.

In her belly blooms another.
The wind said a baby boy.
She thinks of him while watering
and weeding the planted soil.

When darkness turns to dark velvet
she runs daily to her garden.
Soon after comes a suited man
to kiss her a good morning.