Not My Garden (Hymn for Spring)

When I wake in the morning,

I push aside the curtains,

Let in sunlight,

Look out upon a green sward,

The park across the street.

Not my park.

Your park.

 

Morning coffee,

Raisin bagel, a favorite,

Quick toweling off after shower,

Selection of shoes and shirt,

Pants, belt, socks.

Wristwatch.

I am ready.  Open the door.

 

It is the future now.

I walk everywhere I go.

Everything breathes

As I breathe.

How is it like this?

If my tooth aches,

A world is created, and explored.

 

I don’t have too little time,

Though it goes by quickly.

I walk everywhere I go.

People stand in cafe doorways

Or gaze through rain-spattered windows,

Seated at tables with cups and bowls licked clean.

I wave as I go past.

It’s not my meal they’ve eaten.

 

In the distance, sparrows hop about the rooftops.

Wheels turn in the street.

I see mud and bricks,

Clouds reflected in puddles,

And lost coins.

I pick one up,

A dime the size of a silver dollar.

Now, finally, I can afford what I want.

 

I can buy an expensive hat.

I can ride a trolley.

I can plant a garden, maybe.

Not my garden.

Your garden.

Yours

Yours

Yours.

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