The blueberries won’t give fruit this year--
they are young, and just transplanted.
I was surprised when the hellebores bloomed.
I didn’t recognize their leaves.
How can I measure myself
in the years of a garden?
Dirt-poor, red-clay, these are the things
I am made of.
I amend, rotate, rip-up, let go,
and separate, yet
I wonder when that yield will
be mine.
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