(listen to the poem, read by Diane R. Wiener)
One needs but some dirt,
eyes to plan, hands to dig,
seeds, and the wisdom that,
with toil and time, they’ll grow.
An almanac wouldn’t hurt,
but remember the windows.
The garden is tacit knowledge,
less bookish than handsy.
To sit and scrutinize
all differences and dogmas
of each sediment and soil, is to
water grey gardens with black motor oil.
About the Author
Carson Pytell is a poet living in a small town outside Albany, NY. His work has appeared in numerous venues online and is currently available or forthcoming in print from such publications as Vita Brevis Press, The Virginia Normal, NoD Magazine, Blue Moon Lit & Art Review, Spank the Carp, Crack the Spine, Futures Trading, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Gideon Poetry Review, and Children, Churches & Daddies, among others. His debut collection, First-Year (Alien Buddha Press, 2020), and his first chapbook, Trail (Guerrilla Genesis Press, 2020), are available on Amazon.