The Woman in the Plant Shop | Creative Writing | Seven Days | Vermont's Independent Voice

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The Woman in the Plant Shop





She is moving among them, singing

in no known key,

singing, song touching each,

and touching each

the song-attending leaves; the earthworn

hands, gentle, quick,

ride the beam-framed harbor

of unrelenting green. Rootsure,

tuned to the vying needs,

her whole music falls, a blessing

indiscriminate as rain. Given

to giving, she routs death

from the growth, singing; sings

though in her own wanting, she,

and bred with death as any.


Bolt fast, the keys chime

on the steel ring: day done.

Above her, as ever,

heaven is conjuring its stars.

Before her, their brothers,

her charges-small flames

back of the blackened glass

rising in blind accomplishment

through season on season.

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