His Wife

His Wife by Andrew Hudgins

My wife is not afraid of dirt.
She spends each morning gardening,
stooped over, watering, pulling weeds,
removing insects from her plants
and pinching them until they burst.
She won't grow marigolds or hollyhocks,
just onions, eggplants, peppers, peas –
things we can eat. And while she sweats
I'm working on my poetry and flute.
Then growing tired of all that art,
I've strolled out to the garden plot
and seen her pull a tomato from the vine and
bite into the unwashed fruit
like a soft, hot apple in her hand.
The juice streams down her dirty chin
and tiny seeds stick to her lips.
Her eye is clear, her body full of light,
and when, at night, I hold her close,
she smells of mint and lemon balm.


From my aunt Pat


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5 comments

Quirky Momma said...

Thanks for a fun family moment today. Listening to your playlist this morning my son asked me to dance with him! It was precious! Love the poem about your garden/life!

Helisa said...

This is awesome! Your garden is coming along really nicely!
~Helisa

Katie said...

What an awesome poem!
Loving all your garden posts!
XX OO
K

Samurai Mom said...

Love the poem, it makes me tear up a little!

Val in the Rose Garden said...

Doesn't it though? That has been my reaction each and every time I have read it. I love the love that is shown and the trueness of the feelings for the wife, and the garden.

I am guessing that growing things with the earth makes many people's eyes clear and bodies full of light. :)

Blessings,

Val

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