Growing Things

Those days, I grew my flower garden
in the gray earth behind the house:
rows of cosmos, nicotiana, fuzzy blue
ageratum blossoms, tissue paper poppies
and sweet alyssum (which never quite took off).
After storms, the rain caught on the wide, sticky
nicotiana leaves. It turned the gray soil black
and yielding as I pushed the wind-blown cosmos back upright.

I have no soil now, only asphalt. It is children I tend.
They have, each, their own mannerisms--their own
manifestations of soul. They are remarkable, these little
brown and cream beings smudged with red playground dust
and  bright with gappy smiles, exploring wills,
and kaleidoscope emotions. The rain drives them crazy
for it means they must stay cooped inside.
They are familiar, beloved--infinitely more mysterious
than flowers.