The Garden Kept Her Secrets
She crouched among the tomato vines
the way children do — completely,
her whole self given over to the dirt.
Something moved beneath a leaf.
She did not name it, only watched,
already learning that attention is a kind of love.
The afternoon was endless, as they are
when you are small enough to live inside one.
She would not remember this.
But the garden would.
Inspired by a tutorial by Rita. poetry ©Stacy Stephens