Soo Line Community Garden 2024

We gather in this garden

we have all tended and for decades

planted and mended.

We have won the right to celebrate,

to dance a hundred dances friends, 

sing and write as many songs,

toast, clap and stand

corn, sunflower and trellis tall.

We’ve won the gift to garden this land -

wrestle weeds, row spring ground,

seed and cover, water and pray,

our roots are deep set down.

We earned our way to huddle and break 

out like seeds finding a place

for Darlene’s snap peas

Oak Man’s borage

John’s asparagus 

Michael’s wild flowers

Sally’s strawberries 

Tammy’s nettle

Dana planting on the hill

Connie and Wes, Maria and Lenny -

two mothers, two growing sons

Nacho’s students, always at home

Pam’s hollyhock’s merry welcome

Teri and Leslie’s pollinator habitat 

Jim and Kyle, weeding each morning

devoted Ellan and her volunteers

carpenter John and his cedar benches

Jess and Kedar’s tomatillos 

my Cherokee purple tomatoes 

Kayoko’s sharing of sweet herbal teas

Patience’s plot of lettuce and beets

Regina’s lilies every spring

Peter’s table for mingling.

We gather in this garden 

we have all tended and for decades

planted and mended. 

We have won the right to celebrate,

to dance a hundred dances friends, 

sing and write as many songs,

toast, clap and stand

corn, sunflower and trellis tall.

Mama

Sometimes the middle of the day

it’s a starry, starry night.

I can’t see the blackbird

fly and need a place to hide away. 

Then I hear you ask me to sing

it’s a beautiful world and I can’t help

but remember the walking days, 

blue skies smiling at me and sunshine 

on my shoulders, we sided by Yoda Moon.  

For you every spring I will trowel and plant 

parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme 

outside my kitchen door. 

And the twinkling chime - goodie, goodie

here comes cookie walking down the avenue - 

is that you Mama? 

It is still a beautiful world. 

 Try A Tea Trinity 

Ginger, lemon, and honey -

passion, sourness, sweetness!

Sip and savor, simply sharing.

In Beautiful Minnesota

We sorrow. We cry. We chant.

We believe in, we shout out

the bill of rights our families fought for. 

We die for. We pray for.  We dearly

uphold. 

 If you think 

you cannot sing, 

hum,

amen or om, 

rap or chant, 

whistle or pray.

Your angel 

will say 

(if you stop 

and listen) 

“doubt be gone!

There is no wrong

way to sing.

I am here 

and can tell you … 

you are singing!”

She is translucent,

with beautiful, blue bell eyes.

Songs are falling asleep again. 

I sing them to her, keeping memories near.  

Last week, she raved about Warren,

Warren who lived next door

and says they are married. 

 “He’s studying to be a doctor,”

she told me yesterday, pink lipstick on,

wearing her knitted turquoise top,

linen pants and socks with red hearts,

blue bell eyes full and reflecting light.

Today, when I visit, she is in bed,

her eyes a waning crescent.

Warren’s been moved to memory care 

and she can’t remember his name. 

There’s folly at my backyard feeder 

fluttering off and scooting over

sparrows vie for nuts and seeds 

and raisins I’ve thrown in.

“There’s plenty for all!” I call from my window 

as they flock and aim for coveted perches.

The feeder in constant turn and sway, 

is empty in less than a day!

Tan as sand and white as cream

with lightest orange beak and feet, 

males with black chins and bibs,

small enough to rest in my palm.

From feeder to ground to trellis to tree, 

chirping and flying they are back again 

for more nuts and seeds and raisins 

and shenanigans!