"In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
—Margaret Atwood
My wife, a part-time, life-long gardener,
in the time left from working a necessary job,
tended our house as if it were another garden,
raised our children as if they were roses and milkweed,
nurtured our pets like Nature’s children,
loved me into being better than I might have been.
Now, in old age, she persists,
hired a younger woman to help,
still fusses around, plants pots,
pulls weeds, smiles while sweating,
sidles back on to the deck,
rests quietly in the sun,
our dog on her lap,
never quits, never will,
until she is part of the dirt
she smells like before her shower.
In Eternity, will she be able to plant Eden?
Gracious God, give her the chance.
Originally published in Young Raven's Review