Sweet hyssop and the sweltering hives
from which sail bees, their resolute flight
into July, into my garden.
When he called for help,
they put him on hold
longer than he could stand
and he broke
the phone in half.
And still there is shelter in shade
and pummeling rain, in the produce aisle
with its mounds of lemons, nectarines.
The garden was literally healing me. The low to mild depression I had been cycling in and out of started to break, and I felt lighter, happier, and more self-accepting.
It’s a double-edged sword. … The more we put up barriers, the more we reduce our human microbiomes.
On the calendar we see the bold square, marking the number 21 in March, marking our hope, our deep breath— 21, our emerald prolepsis, our brain’s fast synapse between withdrawal … Continue reading