Tiny Square Heaven


Multitudes are born here
in halls of suckling bounty
where weeds are not scorned,
but adopted,
where a thousand shades of green
make a pact with the sun,


and below, passionless root crops
are as forgotten as the snows
on the other side of the world
and roses in a cold sweat,
feverish by day and
dripping moonlight in darkness,
remember their ancestor, Eden.



I stare past the toy jungle
and snatch a dream as it
giggles on its way to oblivion
and delight that snippets of Saturdays
and packets of bargain seeds
could send roots into my soul.



Cares dissolve in sweat and
plants that feel needed inject
our cells with sparkling air
till frost sets the well-bred creatures
on fire and leaves them to die



Here I breathe like an infant
and the earth holds my spirit
like a prayer.



by Patricia Joan Jones

View patriciajj's Full Portfolio