Outside the garden, the newspaper lands
on the driveway each morning, bringing terrible words;
misogyny, fascist, fraud.

Inside the garden,
we speak another language.
We say esmeralda, brunia, arugula, cylindra;
we say  bordeaux, bolero, fiesta.
We speak in flowers:
we say alstromeria;
we say sweet juliet, wildeve.
We say tango.
Bees hear us,
dance.

© by Wendy Morton.
Used with the author’s permission.
Photo by Wendy Morton.