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wildflower seed
by Kristina Woodhillthe orange vests are working our county ditch out back today
the ditch rider and the county prison guard call from the fence
and check in with me; i am out back gardening
tomorrow the ditch rider will let the irrigation water in
there are 10 young people out there with shovels, rakes, hoes
the shop lifter that kiped the scarf to match the outfit
the bastard that hit his friend one too many times in the bar fight
the DUI that nailed the stop sign at 2:05 am last Saturday
the gal who wrote that bad, bad check with beautiful, practiced cursive
the jerk who broke into his buddy's house
wanting to borrow his latest CD
they're all out there
the guard is wearing a white shirt and dark slacks, a baseball cap
he stands in the shade of the porta-potty for awhile
either clipping his nails or texting
he finally picks up a shovel and joins the crew
i look out an upper bedroom window with my binoculars
the windows are coated to reflect heat and i am invisible
i become the man in the guard tower, gazing down
waiting for the hand signal of the thug's toady
waiting for the sideways glance of the bully's advance
waiting for the shovel to hit the side of the guard's head
whose back is turned while half the crew get a drink
from the orange cooler set beside the porta-potty
i have watched too many
Cool Hand Luke movies,
too many Shawshank Redemptions;
i discard my drama and focus on petty problems
and ordinary dreams
i look for details under the long orange vests
something to distinguish them as individuals
something that tells me what he or she wants
the signal that says
diggin' ditches is for fools and i ain't no fool
i concentrate on the two young women
because i am a woman
the one wears a baseball cap and is slender with dark hair
the other has her hair up on top her head
she is heavy and puffy looking
no sun glasses, no hat
it will be in the 80's today
they are both going to fry
i see the guard mopping his brow already
and it is well before noon
i become the mother
and want to take them lemonade and cookies
cover them in sunscreen and wide brimmed hats
talk quietly to them and tell them
of other kinds of lives and choices
give them a flash of a good experience
a memory of a feeling of accomplishment
they can latch onto and carry with them
instead i make a wish
and i fill them with the knowledge
of the power of the water that will pour down
that ditch tomorrow
the miracle of its source and renewal
the certainty of its ability to carry
the light weight flotsman with ease
toss aside the bobbing jetsam
flow steadily around the solid heavy, heavy rocks
i fill them with the knowledge of what the water can do
when it soaks deeply into the rich soil
and marries each patiently waiting seed
and the feeling of the joy of that union
of what the water can do as it rejuvenates
sleeping roots of old souls,
prepares for the feeding of ancient and new empires
and they will know what it feels
to cool a parched throat
to climb the salmon's rapids
to wash away tears
to push the water wheel
to forge the mighty canyon
to fill the empty pitcher
to grow the fields of wheat
to splash the weary neck
to sway the fire's passion
to dance with clouds
this is my wish, and their baptism
of possibility 04/21/2009 Author's Note: edit
Posted on 04/21/2009
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 04/21/09 at 10:22 PM Such excellent observations and ideas here. I'm thoroughly enjoying it...it's a too common scene, these crews. I appreciate the humanity you assign to them, they are folks who have made mistakes. Who has not, some greater, some lesser. It is an ill of society, and that means all of us, so my stance is in their favor as well, as I believe that while there is a lower class, I am in it; while there is a criminal element, I am of it; and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free. Too often it is society prepares the crime, and the criminal commits it. Great poem. Thanks. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/23/09 at 12:01 AM Compassion is written all over this poem. Realism with hope! (Sorry, Greg, I don't think all of society is at fault in crimes committed by individuals. There are plenty of societal ills unquestionably but personal responsibility and accountability must prevail. Thus, sadly, prisons are important for each one has a choice and must live with the consequence. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 04/25/09 at 12:28 PM I sense a powerful disparity in this poem between
the powers that would do harm and tear the world apart at the seams and the powers that would heal those fissures with a stitch in time, all to do with needles thread with powerhouse words, such as love and understanding. |
| Posted by Tim J Bono on 04/26/09 at 06:31 AM Many great lines here Kristina. I've never seen form or rhythm like this either - very unique stylistically. Thanks for the imagination! |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 08/03/09 at 03:09 PM Your poems in general, and this one in particular, humble me with their great swath of human and Earthling particularities and the gentle creative love you bring to your work. I was there with you, even feeling a little fear about that guard getting whopped up aside the head and what would happen to you in your nearby house. But mostly I dove into the blue depths of possibilities sprinkled like fresh rain in this beautiful poem. Thank you, Kristina. What a gift this poem is and you are. |
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