This first tomato like those first tomatoes
from the forty annual gardens we tended
hides pink among the leaves. Until now
I did not see it, the visible ones still shades
of green. My morning inspection, turning
over leaves and pulling weeds from dark soil,
opened the space for its pink. The air
is still cool, even in Missouri July,
and the tomato is even more , still
with the night’s damp beaded on its skin.
I take a bite, and it tastes like your neck
I remember from our wedding night.
Your ashes you wished sprinkled over
our wintering garden have done
their job well; I’ll have a harvest
of your kisses summer long.
Dear Clarence, This poem brought me to tears. It is a gentle and remarkably fine love poem, affirming in a simple yet deeply profound way just how resonant and powerful a connection between two people can be as it grows over time and as it sustains beyond time. Many of us are gardeners, all of us love. The confluence you create between those two elemental acts is poetic art at its finest. Thank you for writing this. Jonas