Just Plant

Just Plant

(“The one who plants and the one who waters really do not matter. It is God who matters, because he makes the plant grow.” 1 Corinthians 3:7)

The announcements overheard, the ones that woke the
morning drowse and weave,
implied the job would never be done well enough,
and numbers weren’t as numerous as the count
of harvests years ago.

It rattled expectation, the promise that waited so far
out of reach. We could run faster then, true enough,
but we usually missed half our turns in our haste
to break the speed records of a generation ago.

The money rolls in just fine, sometimes between the lines,
but the worry doesn’t change much, dollars or thousands,
and the measure is never the bank account’s balance;
but the friends we take the chances with. They are better comfort,
finer enhancement than antique candelabras in the remodeled narthex.

It still remains, though, that the numbers are lower than
the days of lush vegetation in the backyard garden;
roses in rows from fence to garage; tomatoes dressed
green to red climbing the fence along the patio. These days,
having put off planting, grass grows taller than the single rose bush
I planted

The week after Dad died.

I’m embarrassed about my depression,
blushing that so much space is filled with so few faces,
and hope, now, when my lope is slower, to remember to

Just plant the rows for watering.