A sunless winter of icy storms,
then three suddenly warm days.
Blue skies. Though not spring,
Laura retrieves heavy terracotta pots
from the shed, carries them to the garden
of hard-caked dirt. A withered patch
of thyme’s green hint of new leaf
and snow-crushed chives’ fresh
tender shoots seem to embolden her.
Filling each pot with fresh soil and compost,
she plant seeds smaller than the least thought—
zinnias, cornflowers, poppies.
On the deck she wrestles the heavy pots,
rolling them on their edge
to where the light falls all day long.
Where we live it often snows in spring.
Late-May frosts are not uncommon.
When forecasts warn of freezing temps,
she brings the clay pots inside for a few days
to keep us company. She lines the old pots
by the tall white bookshelves and raises
the window blinds, making sure every so often
to mist the soil, attentive with the plastic
spray bottle she keeps handy on her crowded desk.
—
Richard Jones is the author of many books of poems, most recently Passport (Green Linden Press, 2025). He is also the editor of the literary journal Poetry East and has curated its many anthologies, including The Last Believer in Words, Paris, Bliss, and Origins.
