Upon my arrival, I share with phlox,
verbena, firebrush, rose,
where I’m from, how I garden,
the plants I’ve grown. To be embraced
in her yard, I must set broccoli,
peppers, beets, even chard, at ease.
He, before me, disliked flowers,
ate meat, not veggies, hated
to sow, water, weed. Lantana
remember this betrayal, so do
radishes, anemone, beans.
I slip among them, bend, listen,
whisper low to each. The cosmos
bow acceptingly in wind. Kudzu,
suspicious, stays out of reach.