Posy

Posy

I found a poem in my grandma’s garden buried deep in the soil with one word in spidery scrawl stretching across the leaf and thriving upwards to the sun. With my trowel I leavened it roots and all from its place of burial and held it close to find its message —

its edges were torn and worms had left small windows where the world poked through.

With fervent energy I dug up
the whole flower bed
to find more poems
but no more came to fruition

and this lonely prize of mine fell apart on my desk on the following day.

Jessica L. Wilkinson