The grass

A poem

Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash

I have nutured the bare patch on my lawn,
got rid of grubs & seeded & watered it,
worried over it, looking over my deck
like the bars of a crib at a sleeping child.

As people lamented gray skies and rain,
I welcomed them. Cool water would protect
& nurture the seeds. What luck
that there was a mix of sun & storms.

For a week, nothing: then I breathed out
when I saw lush green blades.
I knew it would never be
the same as it was, but maybe better.

And then I wondered what I could do
if I showed myself the same compassion.