Here we are my grandson, age four, and me.
In old shoes and torn jeans, we use child-sized
scoops and rakes as we  ready the soft earth.

We're planting rainbows of petunias.
The boy's hair splashes sunlight gold; his hands
love the dirt as they scoop holes for starts.

I'm clumsy in the art of planting flowers
but the boy thinks I know everything. He
works close to me, my garden prodigy.

Looking back I recall something I lacked:
I would have traded my Babe Ruth rookie
baseball card for a grandpa with bent back

and torn jeans who planted petunias
with patient hands, and endless time for me.

© Michael Escoubas.
Used here with the author's permission.