The Garden
Sunday, November 7th, 2010When I saw white butterflies in the sun
Flutter among my broccolis,
Like a tragic king at the oracle
I knew what was in store.
Now dark mornings find me
On aching knees
With headlamp pointed down
Searching undersides of ragged leaves
Stems fouled with droppings
Tangles of shredded buds.
I spot the velvety worms
The color of what they’ve eaten,
The shape of where they hide.
I lift them tenderly
With forefinger and thumb
To squeeze out their guts.