ODE TO THE FIRST PEACH by Ellen Bass Only one insect has feasted here — a clear stub of resin plugs the scar. And the hollow where the stem was severed shines with juice. The fur still silvered like a caul. Even in the next minute, the hairs will darken, turn more golden in my […]

NOVEMBER, REMEMBERING VOLTAIRE by Jane Hirshfield In the evenings I scrape my fingernails clean, hunt through old catalogues for new seed, oil workboots and shears. This garden is no metaphor — more a task that swallows you into itself, earth using, as always, everything it can. I lend myself to unpromising winter dirt with leaf-mold […]

  CONSIDERING THE SNAIL by Thom Gunn The snail pushes through a green night, for the grass is heavy with water and meets over the bright path he makes, where rain has darkened the earth’s dark. He moves in a wood of desire, pale antlers barely stirring as he hunts. I cannot tell what power […]

A SMALL NEEDFUL FACT by Ross Gay Is that Eric Garner worked for some time for the Parks and Rec. Horticultural Department, which means, perhaps, that with his very large hands, perhaps, in all likelihood, he put gently into the earth some plants which, most likely, some of them, in all likelihood, continue to grow, […]

  BLACK CHERRIES by W.S. Merwin Late in May as the light lengthens toward summer the young goldfinches flutter down through the day for the first time to find themselves among fallen petals cradling their day’s colors in the day’s shadows of the garden beside the old house after a cold spring with no rain […]

  Yes By William Stafford It could happen any time, tornado,earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.Or sunshine, love, salvation. It could, you know. That’s why we wakeand look out – no guaranteesin this life. But some bonuses, like morning,like right now, like noon,like evening.

Her Garden BY DONALD HALL I let her garden go.                 let it go, let it go How can I watch the hummingbird           Hover to sip           With its beak’s tip The purple bee balm—whirring as we heard     […]

“The Niagara River” by Kay Ryan. As thoughthe river werea floor, we positionour table and chairsupon it, eat, andhave conversation.As it moves along,we notice—ascalmly as thoughdining room paintingswere being replaced—the changing scenesalong the shore. Wedo know, we doknow this is theNiagara River, butit is hard to rememberwhat that means.—

Summer Kitchen In June’s high light she stood at the sink With a glass of wine, And listened for the bobolink, And crushed garlic in late sunshine. I watched her cooking, from my chair. She pressed her lips Together, reached for kitchenware, And tasted sauce from her fingertips. “It’s ready now. Come on,” she said. […]

Affirmation BY DONALD HALL To grow old is to lose everything. Aging, everybody knows it. Even when we are young, we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads when a grandfather dies. Then we row for years on the midsummer pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage, that began without harm, scatters into debris on the […]