June Garden

Sweat tri087ckles, drops in salty beads from nose and chin.

Ahead the straight green rows stretch, beckoning my hoe to do its worst,

Or perhaps its best. The perspective depends—weed? Or corn, bean, tomato?

Hot noon spills across the June landscape.  

A dragonfly swoops by, iridescent lightness in heavy air. A woodpecker drums,

Then calls irritably as if he is tired of being too hot, too sweaty, too heat-exhausted.

Dust puffs from the chicken yard where a hen is taking her daily bath;

The rooster struts but is subdued by the sun’s fierce glare.



Cut weeds wilt almost instantly; the savage hoe strikes and strikes again.

A sudden breeze flutters my hair, ruffles my cotton shirt and dries sweat

Into white ribbons running down my arms, tracking a path through dust and dirt.

I lift my head and inhale the unexpected sweetness of honeysuckle.



About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in Appalachian, Garden, home, nature, short poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s