In the greenhouse, in the winter's heart, Under glass; warmth. The soil in the pots, your shoulder against me. These want watering, or they'll be dry sticks. Faucet-turn. Watering-pot fill. Clear water veins the thirsty earth. Your arms, mine, Lift the refilled pot, Carry water, row after row, Until we are exhausted. Until we laugh, catch hold of each other, Say now? Now? Meaning yes, yes, And fall hungrily down together Between the rows. The old root still knows the way, And all the small voices sing leaf and shadow. Wait, love. On this moment, balanced, So, and so, and just so, Wait, until the uprush fills us, And plunging together into the joyful furrow, We make Great Nature laugh To see spring come in December, in a glass house.
Author:
Elise Matthesen