“In the Garden”
by Geneva Politzer
Here, in my small unkempt garden,
even the weeds wear holy robes.
Amid a nervous system of jeweled spider webs,
pansies overgrow the old brick path,
its mossy mortar the artwork of Omega.
I know these faces, raised in reverence—
a perennial invitation to worship
the silence of an opening bud, invisible
to the eye but all the nourishment I need
to fuel my hunger for divinity.
My garden has no plan
It springs from an imagination
as fertile as verdant loam; thorns
remind me to practice great care
with life’s fragility. God whispers,
“I Am here, in the intricate veins
of inverted leaves; in earthworms and dew.”
I gave up on plots & plans & herbicides
long ago—my small, unkempt garden
is its own answered prayer.