Poetry by Sharon Scholl
how to measure the black bed,
count out seeds resembling small
splinters shedding torn coats.
I watched as he poked a finger
into soil dense as chocolate cake,
dropped one seed in each moist well.
He taught me to plot my planting
into harmonies of pattern, leave
room for my sprouts to breathe
so every leaf has space to stretch.
I noticed how he flicked moisture
from his fingers so all could drink
but none would drown,
how he set the watering can swaying
like a pendulum toward his open palm.
Every spring I renew his lesson,
measuring, counting, planting,
watering, taking my turn to care
for this young and fragile life.
(Author Note: Inspired by the poem by Shutta Crum, My Mother Taught Me to Quilt)
Sharon Scholl is a retired college professor who convenes a poetry critique group and maintains a website of free original music. Her poetry chapbooks, Remains, Seasons, Timescape, are available via Amazon Books. Current poems are in Switchgrass Review and Green Ink Poetry.
