I really admire those who post poetry during this month and since I’m trying to do more poetry writing this year, I’ve decided I can participate in the challenge too. So I’m going to aim for every 5th day.
She goes looking with her fingertips along the fence
raking away the dead leaves and branches collected there.
Running her fingers over the muddy soil,
she is not even sure what to look for.
What did they look like last fall when she pushed them into the dirt?
What are they supposed to look like now?
Discouraged, she stops searching and returns to the house.
“Mom, I think I killed them,” she says over the phone.
The two of them walk across the wet grass.
Side by side, they prod the dirt looking for signs of life.
It was such a wet and nasty winter, I’m sure they haven’t survived.
I’m sure we will find them honey, just give it some time.
Finally, their fingers find the stiff stalks in the ground,
poking up out of the soft, moist darkness.
Barely discernible, nestled in between the gnarled roots,
little red peony buds.
See honey-bun, they made it.
There’s more to come.