To Garden With Grandmother

To garden
with grandmother
is an instructional
affair

I pull up
weeds & stick
dandelions
in her hair.

I learn that
hibiscus' are related
to okra
& that the
mango tree
is blighted

while the
cherry tree
is laden
it's fruit
sorrel red
with excitement.

My grandmother
swings her
cutlass
through
the green
blades of
grass,

turning
into a plantation
labourer
gone
the woman
of middle-class.

There is nothing
delicate
about this
woman
(except perhaps
her love for
me)

as she
produces
food & abundance
from her land
throughout,
it seems,
centuries.

She points
at the hills
that surround
our concrete
home,
& sucks
her teeth
& lets out
a silent moan

Those people
have it right,
she confesses
to me,
those squatters up
in the hill
they are
the ones
who are
free.

She points
at the hills
that surrounds
our valley,
at the
blooming
poui trees
aflame in ecstacy...

To garden
with grandmother
means to water her
English roses,
awkward like
tourists
amongst
colorful natives...

planting the pepper
the soil
she tosses
each movement
balancing off
all of our losses.

The avocados,
although
ready to pick--
are hard and
need to be
wrapped

Until its
flesh turns
soft
and it is ready to
eat,
this is trick
I remember
a simple
blessing
an Urban
survival
feat.


We stop
before the
noon sun & drink
her mauby
the sun is hot
& shows no
mercy.

I feel faint &
a little
dizzy too...
but through
my grandmother
I have learned
to grow
food.