Right there, nestled beneath the straw,
potatoes. There. Just because you know
that they should have been growing
here in the garden where the mulch
is thick, just because you know other
people have grown them before doesn’t
mean they will grow for you. But they did.
Here’s proof: Small white pearls in the dirt
with the worms and the slugs, knobby
and bulbous, here they are now in your hands
as you lift up the roots, and they dangle
and drop, miracles, thin skinned and full moon
fleshed. Why are you so surprised to see
them here? You dropped the seed with its
sprouting eyes in this very ground months
ago. But not all seeds that are planted bear
fruit. Not all things we nurture come through.
So often, wishes do not come true. But today …
though the flowers are gone and the culms died back,
in these shortening days, and as cold approaches,
small fingerlings wait just above the earth, and all
your ideas of what is possible and what is not
are laid aside and gently and gently and gently,
so gently your joy deepens and deepens.