Bones of My Garden
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The bones of a garden refers to its skeletal structure, the basic organizational form of a garden's plantings and permanent structures. The poems collected here are "the bones" of my life's garden, beginning the faith stories I was raised on and have re-read through the years in the Old and New Testaments of the Bible. Included also are "the bones" of family. Since I know that all of our children and grandchildren will immediately calculate whether or not they have equal space, I have made certain that each one is the subject of one poem. There are others in my files for my next publication, b...
The bones of a garden refers to its skeletal structure, the basic organizational form of a garden's plantings and permanent structures. The poems collected here are "the bones" of my life's garden, beginning the faith stories I was raised on and have re-read through the years in the Old and New Testaments of the Bible. Included also are "the bones" of family. Since I know that all of our children and grandchildren will immediately calculate whether or not they have equal space, I have made certain that each one is the subject of one poem. There are others in my files for my next publication, but for now I am satisfied that no one member of the family has the spotlight. People and nature are prominent themes in this book of poetry that moves through America as I travel. A view across Central Park from East to West spreads the dawn of early morning: "A celestial match/ scrapes its head along concrete ledges/ until golden flames ignite behind black glass." The Oklahoma plains appear as "wind-cleansed land/ sighing between two oceans." People are observed from birth to death: a new-born who "mews like a kitten," and nursing home patients in "rooms occupied by slumping ghosts." A homeless man from somewhere and everywhere "...kneels/ as if in prayer beside one bag/ ripped open with a rusty key" at the same time an apartment tenant chooses colors that "unroll hope into living/ camouflage impermanence/ celebrate spaces/ storing renter's dreams." My wish for the readers of these "bones" is that they will walk in their own gardens of discovery and perhaps enjoy what Anna Quindlen exquisitely defines as the poetic experience: "...the heart coming around the corner and unexpectedly running into the mind."
