Plant something, suggests a wiser mind
than mine. Which I’ve been doing.
Literally.

And when the noise of cruelty and oppression,
of war and meanness vibrates through me
like a tuning fork,

I go to the nursery. As if I need more plants.
Bring them home. Water them. Speak kindly
to them.

“We do not need to see the whole future to begin.
We need to know where to put our hands.
And then we need to keep going.”

I put my ungloved hands in the dirt,
doing what is possible, a tiny possibility,
that might,

with enough water and sunlight and love
outlast this moment. And another.
And another.

Even if it dies, as it surely someday will,
As I surely someday will. Though what
I plant

might well outlive me,
as the dirt under my nails will
remind me for the rest of the day.

•••

(The quote in the fourth stanza is from the Rev. Cameron Trimble,
which inspired this poem. You can find her good writing here.)