Writing in the Time of Trump
On our literary knees, leaning into the work
of the miracle of goodness and growth,
we plant them row after row, modest words
like the marigold seeds sown in my garden–
tiny ellipsis marks in the damp spring soil
that promise their influence will keep pests away.
Each poem, each post, opens as a seed leaf
to tempt the world to believe tender structures
have the power to turn essentials into energy
that can transform thin sprouts into foliage
and flowers, that given space and time,
simple stems will burst into exuberant color.
Desk gardeners, we toil, even as storm after storm
hides the sunlight, as bugs come and wind gusts,
as hail pommels our plans, as weeds strangle progress,
as little we do seems to make a difference…what luck,
then, for us, that every day offers a fertile page
of hopeful rhetorical fruit set and ready to ripen.
by Anne McCrady
Audio Link (hear Anne read the poem): SoundCloud