(This poem was written by my sister Stephanie, who gave me permission to post it on WOL)

 

When trying to let go of 

The illusion of control 

By a parent for a wayward youth 

My mantra has been

“Trust the fertilizer”

 

Not the fertilizer from a bag

with numbers and chemicals

But the compost made in the yard

From kitchen scraps and plant clippings, 

The organic detritus of our lives

Transformed quietly

Over time

By earthly beings 

Nematodes, worms, bacteria

Creeping, crawling, or unseen

 

It’s hard to trust the compost 

When leaves wilt or fruit drop prematurely

We try to figure what’s wrong

What to do

Remove the attacking bugs

Apply the missing vital nutrient 

Spray an organic remedy

That won’t create 

greater imbalance 

 

Sometimes not always 

With or without treatment 

The plant buds again

Or sprouts up in another part of the yard

Vigorous productive 

Bountiful with its fruit

Or bearing just a few 

Exquisite bites to cherish

 

Sometimes the gardener 

Reaches a moment of peace

With what has been lost

And what has grown

 

All this to say

This morning I had a vision

Of her (my beloved wayward one) as a strong courageous warrior

Brandishing a sword

Jumping high

In mortal combat 

With a giant hydra

It’s three heads writhing in fury

On its three long sinuous necks

 

Then this evening

As she and I sat close in the visiting patio

With three other clusters of family 

In quiet communion with their loved one 

She told me with a hint of a smile

“I got to work in the garden today.

I planted a flower.

I showed the staff member

How to loosen the roots

And put them in the dirt

The way you showed me,

So that the roots can spread out.”