perpetually gathering


my parents have at least two
dozen varieties of edible and/or
beautiful plants in their garden,
some of them sprouted from seeds,
some of them nurtured from cuttings,
some of them gifts from me,

some of them purchased from the market
with trepidation:

will this $15 blueberry bush actually bear fruit?

can a longan tree even survive this by turns
too-dry and too-cold climate?

what will we do with so many beets?

they go ahead and plant anyway


i can’t help collecting friendships,
relishing even the briefest connections,
holding on to memories of moments
at times with more preciousness than
perhaps some would warrant

yet even the smallest spark exchanged
is so magical
has so much potential
reverberates in ways that are not always visible

we are collections of the many things
large and tiny
that have made imprints on us


i romanticize my parents’ green thumbs,
their bountiful garden

i don’t talk about the seeds that never sprouted,
the cuttings that did not take root,
the trees that never bore fruit.


i am thankful for all those who have passed through,
those who’ve stayed close

i lament those i’ve let go,
those i pushed away.


whether with plants
or people

we must keep
taking chances