Dungy’s seeds have lodged deep in me. The prompts come from Dungy’s excerpts. The poems emerging take me in unexpected directions — blooming where they will.
Find April 1 and 2 here.
April 7, 2024
Maybe people are like dandelions, planting themselves where the earth offers openings.
dandelion
to be so full of seed – and who is not –
wishing to burst in discovery
of what could be
yet will I wait for wind or wish
to release all that lies within, and then
will I sail
like a tern from pole to pole
who stops only when she knows she is home
and will there be room?
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
April 5, 2024
At some point, other people’s spades must turn up the soil where a gardener plants her dreams.
to garden is to dream
a small town gives birth to a reluctant super-hero
who looks in the mirror
and finds love
tenderly separates babies clinging to mother yuccas’
ferocious tubers, sets them in sand and sun to dry
and try
gathers stray paddles, wilted and broken, sets
it near its brethren for support it wakens, straightens
multiplies
a pomegranate blossom greets the new year, a harvest
you won’t see for the kangaroo rat has staked its claim
beneath the resin spurge
I never expected to raise a family here
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
April 6, 2024
The world weighs on each of us, but in unequal measure.
burdens
ladened ant
pollened bee
what does the hummingbird bear, or
does she flee? is it fair
thermals aid
eagles’ wings?
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
inspired by Alan Wright for the trinet form
April 4, 2024
This too is a way of measuring love. How deep are our sighs?
a sigh
unable to find its way out
blood boils
a brain scramble
a gut punch
a heart-hole
a cheek sting
twisted intention – someone’s Picasso
a cold shrug
a cry to the canyon –no echo returns
arms ache empty
suffocated in disbelief
stifled by disappointment
hope fooled
still, it was worth the try
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
April 3, 2024
in gardens I find hope
untitled
we took away the car when your confusion grew worse
when dates and conversations blurred
your memory fades
yet you still help her dress each morning
then yell at her when she drops a glass bowl
and rage about dignity
I kneel before a bed of dirt
and sink my fingers deep into cool earth
clench my fists
squeeze life
claw rows
bury tears
what about my loss? – the picture on the wall
that I want your aging to be
I drop seeds too close together
they battle for life, lose
energy that might have gone to fruit
it’s too late, too cold, too shady
I water too much –relieved
when false green appears
resigned to harvest what grows
before the season ends
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
Patricia Franz is a kidlit writer and published poet. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
These are just beautiful! I love that there is so, so much inspiration from this book!
Patricia, oh, my goodness. There is so much beauty and depth here. I am in awe. I just added Soil to my TBR list. Thank you for sharing these poems. Some of my favorite lines:
“to be so full of seed–and who is not–”
and because I know them well: “mother yuccas’ ferocious tubers”
and your poem “untitled” is full of the mystery, beauty and pain of aging. Wow.
Patricia, just a note: Your eclipse poetry link you left at Jone’s for Poetry Friday doesn’t work, and I can’t find it on your blog.