She's full of pep and vigor,
lying to herself with the old practice
of the newly hired.
"I enjoy this work," she says.
But at the bottom, top, and middle of this ladder,
the word emerge from your mouth
The child who once roamed free within you,
making fairy-wings and green-eyed monsters
pulls your eyes to that far-away place,
to the Elysian Fields of truth,
while you lie into a lie
and people nod at the lie
so that it becomes the truth.
Kneeling in the dirt last night,
your hands mirthful in the soil, in the breaking apart
and the digging up,
your mind speaking its apologies to the weeds,
your hands knew the miracle of a plant produced from industry,
unwrapped from a sheath of plastic and placed
in the wild and uncontained soil
Today you nod at the new recruit,
and smile at her,
and think of your garden waiting in its patch
between the sidewalk and the door.
June 2001; June 2003