to a garden, mid-summer

we give thanks

After the sweet tang
of a homegrown tomato 

fades, we still give thanks 
to nightshade plants, 

caged and staked 
as if to keep a season,

its sun-crisped leaves,
bored and split ruby fruit,

the hornworm caterpillar
left to fulfill its purpose.

To the magenta pods
of Mississippi pink eye peas,

snowdrift blooms-to-be,
half-hearts we all 

traced onto folded paper 
to make valentines. 

To the mystery of carrots, 
basil’s persistence, 

long-legged bush crickets 
and crookneck squash 

that has yet to produce
anything except for bees 

drowsed in noon-day flowers
already starting to close.

Fresh-picked from our mid-summer garden

---

Thank you for reading a small spectacle. For more poems about place and perseverance, my self-published collection No One Ever Says is available in the Lulu bookstore. You can also find copies of my chapbook Every Note, a Lantern from Kelsay Books and Amazon.