Plant-Pride
©August 14th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
I understand it’s all an accident,
This strange anomaly
Called Life; that things
Came to be from the endless
Intersections of unexpected events,
Careening towards each other,
And away from each other,
Leaving behind life or non-life.
And yet, when I plant seeds
And watch them grow,
Lush, and wild, brimful
Of sap and juice and leaves,
And see white and yellow flowers grow
Into baby squashes which promise
Sunshine and water and earth –
When I see my tomato plants, their
Green globes full of redness to come,
And my smooth, smug eggplants drooping
With sexy purple plumpness,
And my okra growing upright and perky,
Cradled in impossibly beautiful leaves,
And shy, small bitter gourd just starting out,
Emerging from their yellow flowers,
Protected by exquisite trailing leaves and vines,
Not yet scaly and hardened to all things–
When I see my bean-stalks climbing valiantly up
Their strings and poles, small white bean-flowers
Promising bright green beans-to-be –
Nestled among eaves still young
Still fat and rounded and green–
When I see a profusion of oregano,
Tall, spiky lemongrass, sweet lemon verbena,
And lemon balm growing madly, weed-like,
Spreading such verdant, vibrant,
Sun-saturated fragrance that I’m dizzy when I stoop
And inhale their scent –
When I see a bright vermilion rose bloom
In solitary beauty, and cheeky yellow roses nearby,
And delirious blue delphiniums (now sleeping),
And shy purple Jacob’s Ladder,
Pale purple and pink columbines,
And deep violet morning glories,
Growing everywhere, like a weed
Drunk on sunlight and soil and rain.
And many-hued echinacea flowers,
While bees hover, and butterflies zigzag
Drunken and delighted over them –
I feel within me
A swelling of pride,
A quickening of the blood,
A surge of emotion.
I did that, I think. I put those seeds
Into their seedling-pods, and later, into
The quiet, waiting earth prepared for them.
I sang to my seedlings, kissed them,
Watered them, weeded amongst them,
Agonized over their fate, and saw
Them shoot upwards, ready to give all.
Is it any wonder, then, that
Sometimes, for a fleeting instant,
I feel like the Goddess of all things,
Green and growing, in my garden?
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