I’ve figured out why
A poem by Melody Wilson

I’ve figured out why

I’m not much of a gardener.
Oh, I envy other people’s gardens.
In spring, I buy plants,

turn fresh soil with brand new tools.
It’s a losing proposition—plant, grow,
wither, die, me always to blame.

Don’t tell me it’s a cycle; I walk around
on aging knees, gawk at the skin
on my neck. I’ve seen my chart:

58 Year Old Woman, followed by weight.
That was years ago, now, and it’s only
getting worse. Daffodils erupt year

after year. I watch the cedar tree
from my chair. Its bark thickens,
limbs soften from robust to supple,

swoop lazily until needle clusters
sweep the moss that has swallowed the lawn.
Last September I spent an hour listening

to the old tree creak. It was warm
but breezy and swayed as its shadow
grew. I caught myself measuring its height

against the distance to the room where I sleep,
wondering how long it has stood. And I realize,
it’s not the skill I envy but the nerve.

About the Author:

Melody Wilson is a Pushcart nominated poet whose poems appear in Pangyrus, VerseDaily, The Fiddlehead, Crab Creek Review, San Pedro River Review and elsewhere.  She is pursuing her MFA at Pacific University. Her chapbook, Spineless: Memoir in Invertebrates came out in 2023. Find more of her work at melodywilson.com.

Poetry Breakfast publishes a new poem every weekday morning.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.

Follow Poetry Breakfast
Facebook