Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: August 15.17

Rejoice with me, dear reader,

and witness victory:

I’ve grown actual tomatoes

I’m chuffed and filled with glee!

When I walk through a nursery

the tomatoes run and hide

they know my reputation

for black-thumbed tomatocide.

An occasional single fruit

a miser’s salad plate

was the most I’ve ever gleaned

or could anticipate.

But, lo, a red ripe miracle

such glories on the vines!

I’ve danced the gardener’s jig

and changed my name to Heinz.

 

 

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Connections: August 13.17

My family’s in the garden

the past grows ever green

my mom is in the phlox

most surely, though unseen

her dad in the tomatoes

my green-thumbed Grandpa Mauck

son of North Carolina

whose hills rolled in his talk

Grandma O’Hern in moss roses

her summer’s tried-and-true

her son, my dad, in marigold

(the only flower he knew!)

the dill for an unknown

its air a bit of mystery

but I know it figures somewhere

in my leafy family history

I don’t come (as they say) from money

I come more from dirt

so it’s good to feel them back

in horticultural concert.

 

 

 

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Connections: July 24.17

Maybe you remember

my Christmas tree mishap

when it toppled over

and flattened carpet nap.

Family ingenuity

perhaps aesthetics-free

brought it back to standing

with pragmaticality.

And now my poor tomato

bowed by wind and rain

lists like my old tree

risking break and sprain.

So whether Yule tradition

or heavy-laden vine

when the question comes from listing

the answer comes from twine.

 

 

 

 

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4 Comments

Connections: July 22.17

The impatiens on the screened porch

are spluttering, soaked and indignant,

protesting the face full of rain

blasted by winds unbenignant.

You’d think all the thundering torrents

would make this rank air feel better

but the impatiens will attest to the fact

it just gets wetter and wetter.

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