Pappaw kept a lettuce bed behind our house
There was a little rectangle of soil between the back wall and the alley
Shaded almost every way
He dug and hoed until the dirt was fine as sand
And rimmed the spot with boards stood on edge
Tacked to corner stakes
He waited till the sign was in the loins
Sprinkled the seeds across and along
And laid fine, white cloth overtop
So protected and nurtured
Here would be born something delicate and delightful
Long, moist leaves of faintest green
Fit for a king’s table
This hidden place was mine as well
And the garden a holy mystery
I dug then with a spoon in bare spots on the lawn
But knew better than to touch what pappaw had made
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