We squeeze the pungent, loamy soil
As if we’re kneading dough
To make crusty, yeasty bread
And our fingers with blackened nails poke breathing holes
Where the rainbow will gleefully spring forth
From the seeds we’ve sown.

We know each delicate bud before it unfolds its secrets
And we eagerly anticipate the intoxication of the lush velvet roses
And the dizzying perfume of the creamy gardenias
Awaiting the signal
That it’s time.

Soon, the verdant canopy surrounding us
Will fill with the trills of the birds
And promises of new life
And hope will once again permeate the air

When all is quiet we will listen
And fill our lungs with breaths of life
While we block out the cacophony of the world.


© by Nancy Machlis Rechtman.
Used with the author’s permission.