War Garden

Weeding means pulling out plants

that could actually feed someone–

chickweed, dandelions,  plantain, others

that some consider food.

Today I pulled enough to feed an army,

but this garden will not feed armies, or war,

or hatred, killing and domination.

I would pull every plant, throw them on a fire

and watch them burn before I would feed a war

or soldiers.

But wait.

There stands my son in uniform,

a soldier for twenty years or more, a warrior.

My garden sends fruits and vegetables to his table.

My absolute stand is qualified by one

who stands beside me, quiet in his uniform,

unflinching in his duty while I try

to explain myself

and my garden.


About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, NaPoWriMo. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to War Garden

  1. Sherrell says:

    What a great poem. Glad to know someone else wrestles with war and family. Thank you

  2. Well expressed, thank you.

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