Trenching

Unexpectedly they arrived

by mail—baby saplings

wrapped in woodsy moss

ready to be planted, watered,

nourished there and then—

but we were packed

to go away that day,

headed south

for a few weeks of fun.

I examined labels

attached to tender stems—

tiny rhododendrons

mixed with wee azaleas

destined to be

all the spring colors I imagined—

deep rose reds,

bright, bright whites,

pinks, lavender—

and as instructions read,

a shallow trench I dug,

laid the saplings on their sides,

covered roots with coarse

peat and dirt

to hold them

until my return. That was

the best that I could do

like our mother—

when she put us

in the Cromwell

Children’s Home.




             Alice Azure




















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