Photo by Behzad Gaffarian
Garden
There is a time for all things,
tilling the soil, picking the greens,
bulldozers and cranes, motorcycle rides
and wet ground. But now, what is this
the time for? The red chard
and sprigs of mint are unpicked.
Soon, the stone tiles of the garden will eat
them back up, the sidewalk will devour
the stones, Silicon Valley silver will move in
and raise digital children over the dirt,
make hurried love in the garden beds -
any day, so anyone would think.
But the rattle and shake of the world’s demolition
is put down to indefinite sleep,
and paradise is yet unpaved -
out behind the dumpsters of a sleepwalking
America, the fruits grow wild and uncontained,
roots spread, plots burst their spindled borders,
old and young men sprawl like vines
on the concrete steps, talking Earth.
The Author
Cleo Rohn (she/her) is a poet, spoken word performer, and educator with her roots in rural Vermont and her branches in Massachusetts. Her poetic work has been published in Brave Voices Magazine, Allegory Ridge, After Happy Hour Review, The Wild Word, The Song Between Our Stars, The Water Tower, Kind Writers, Vantage Point, and Dryland Lit. Outside of poetry, she writes about education, mental health, creativity, and the strangeness of living. She is the author of Early Riser, a biweekly newsletter of sleepy-eyed meditations on being human.
