The garden starts as a rocky plot.
I sit on my haunches and toss rocks to the side,
filter dirt through my fingers and toss pebbles to the side.
The earth smells clammy, hiding something unwanted.
The seeds drop into tiny hillocks, searching for something reclusive.
Weeding requires attention.
What is a pea sprout? What is fiddleneck?
What is chickweed? What is dandelion?
If its roots are strong, it’s a weed, pull it out and toss to the side.
Beans climb the trellis, tomatoes hug the stakes.
Pea pods crawl along the ground, corn shoots to the sky.
A watermelon the size of a cucumber, a cucumber the size of a watermelon,
wins a 4-H prize for my brother at the fair.
Picking peas for lunch, I slit the pod, scrape the peas into a saucepan,
Eat one from each pod immediately.
Green taste crunches in my mouth,
Revealing the secret hidden underground,
Fresh flavors of sunlight and heat and riddles never heard.