Preservation
Sep 4, 2018 · 2 min read
I sit in my garden, cultivating words.
Delicate seedlings, clasped in my hands,
they wither from too little attention,
crumple and wither from too much.
I turn them over in my mind, picking out imperfections, imagining greatness.
So much power they have!
Stand them end to end. Will they fit together?
Experiment.
Put the tall, lanky ones in back. Delphiniums, and hollyhocks.
Leave the short ones — pinks — to crouch in front.
Words — like plants, and people — need…

