tagNon-Erotic PoetryThe Gardener

The Gardener


“his feet blue in rubber boots”
Roethke, Old Florist

I once knew a man who planted
a field of stars, their roots growing
like underground light bulbs. He’d
planted the seedlings from a shooting

star that crashed one night into his
farmhouse, causing the roof to collapse
in his kitchen. He watched as crockery
crashed like meteorites, forming craters

out of the broken mugs and plates. He
held the star in his arms as it started to fade
away, its light evaporating into diamond
shaped seeds. And as he planted them, he saw

his reflection that he had buried long ago,
glistening like the wet diamonds in the soil.
As he wept, stars started to fall like raindrops,
covering the ground in a universe he had never

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