Poem from The Return of the Buffalo

Katey

I think of the guerilla gardeners, straining

to dig deep, camouflaged by night,

spreading seed pellets that dissolve in the rain,

flowering concrete, setting road islands alight,

 

never worrying if the smog blocks the sun

or if that slash of colour lasts,

because that poppy jutting through paving stones

is a declaration that life will out.

 

And so with you; what does it matter

if you faded before you could grow,

if they glanced your way momentarily

before moving on, because what’s been sown

 

never truly dies. There’s that latent spark,

those roots digging in, aerating the dark.

4 responses to “Poem from The Return of the Buffalo

  1. I love when my random virtual meanderings bring me to something cool like this. Lovely, inspiring imagery, and what a great subject!

  2. Many thanks – you’ve just made my week. This one’s obviously very personal to me, Deirdre

  3. Great stuff, Deirdre, love

    “what does it matter

    if you faded before you could grow,

    if they glanced your way momentarily

    before moving on, because what’s been sown

    never truly dies. ”

    Looking forward to the new book, this has definitely whetted my appetite!

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