“Growing Season” Post #13: “Springtime Eternal” by Sennen Querijero

SENNEN QUERIJERO

Springtime Eternal 

She sat in the garden and strawberries grew
Through the rain and storms, the faint morning dew
When the moon set at dawn, when the sunlight turned blue
She sang his every song, and the birds whistled too
The kegs filled with fruit in a berry wine brew
While the challengers rose and recruited a crew
Then all fell down quick, their own men staged a coup
Throughout wars that he fought and the secrets she knew
Vines slowly crawled up on her brown leather shoe
Flowers sprouted around in a party she threw
Her stubbornness something he couldn't undo
As hundreds of springs turned to thousands and flew
She sat in the garden and strawberries grew

---

“Growing Season” Post #12: “naive & sentimental sonnet #21” by Tom Zimmerman

TOM ZIMMERMAN

naive & sentimental sonnet #21

scenario of which i’ve never dreamt
can’t think of one i want to write about
so many misrememberings unkempt
in artificial light that shadows doubt

the summer clouds have darkened all the pines
the sky can’t get up off the ground / i steal 
this from another poet borrowed lines
more beautiful & real than how i feel 

oh yes i’d love to be immortal only   
if i didn’t know i were / i need   
the thought of death to keep the fire hot

however there’s the psyche’s deep blue lonely
ocean dreams desires left to feed
upon themselves the children they begot

---

“Growing Season” Post #11: “My sandcastle” by Allison Vitale

ALLISON VITALE

My sandcastle

The sand reflects the harshest rays we’ll feel  
all day, which means I’m the happiest and  
everyone else is gathered under  
the umbrella I knew we had to bring  
since nobody likes the feeling of sun- 
screen in this ridiculous family.  
I watch them, huddled, sweaty, distracted,  
securely behind the tide line for now.   
Before my feet venture from dry sand to 
the cold waters of Lake Superior,  
I steal another glance back- unable 
to hear any of their steady chatter-  
yet translating all the gratitude I  
feel--then--warmly rising and giving me 
the impetus to run in like a child.  

---

“Growing Season” Post #10: “The Sound of Dying Data Centers” by Tessia Knollmeyer

TESSIA KNOLLMEYER

The Sound of Dying Data Centers

Tone. Tone. Whir. Tone.
Whir. Whir. Tone. Tone.

With a hum it heats up
perpetually to be cooled
sending the rushing rivers
to pool in the sky instead

Tone. Tone. Whir. Tone.
Whir. Whir. Tone. Tone.

Drinking energy—
an alcoholic indulging
leaving nothing but the murk,
the mud, and the muck behind

Tone. Tone. Whir. Tone.
Whir. Whir. Tone. Tone.

Hello! I am your AI assistant.
one more child croaks thirsty
Here is an image of you as God,
is there anything else I can help with?

Only dirty water is left
the mom will not let her child drink
crying still she can’t give in
even for a moment of sleep

Tone. Tone. Whir. Tone.
Whir. Whir. Tone. Tone.

Putrid greed seeps from the concrete
standing tall, squashing protests with dollar bills
The monstrosity is insatiable
drinking from the Earth and returning poison

100 pounds of concrete
mixed with one pound of sugar
will not set properly—
or at all

Tone. Tone. — Tone.
Whir. Tone. Whir. —

Thought-stealing wires
spit back placeholders
Greeting [exclamation] noun verb
adjective conjunction noun [punctation]

Tone. Tone. — Tone.
Whir. Tone. Beep. —

Jumbling code—
binary isn’t thinking
it is vacuous—
stealing thoughts with no return

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Once we all run out of water,
maybe the data centers will dry up

---

---

“Growing Season” Post #9: “His Favorite Granddaughter” by Ayla Campbell

AYLA CAMPBELL

His Favorite Granddaughter

It feels like just yesterday
we were splashing around 
waiting to have dinner on the pool deck

It feels like just last week
he pulled me onto his lap
the roar of the engines
and the smell of the gas exciting me
watching the dirtbikes go around and around
a huge grin on my face

It feels like just last month 
I was sitting in his lap
as he taught me how to drive, 
first the tractor,
then his truck

It feels like just last summer
he and my uncle 
were grabbing my arms and my legs 
and throwing me into the pool

It feels like just a few years ago
he was putting me in an easter basket 
after my grandma told him expressly not to 

But it's not like that
it hasn’t been 

In 
A
Long 
Time 

A few years ago 
we were struggling, 
moving him into a home

Last summer
we were going to visit him, 
scared that he wouldn’t remember us 
each time we walked through the door

Last month
we were sitting by his bedside
as he laid there unmoving

Last week 
we were going through pictures
for his funeral

And yesterday… 

Yesterday 
we were at his funeral 
remembering him 
and all of the
joy
and laughter
and life
and love
that we shared

Today
all I have is 
memories of the moments
we have had together

These memories are what I will treasure 
forever 

---

“Growing Season” Post #8: “What a trip” by Allison Vitale

ALLISON VITALE

What a trip 

I have this picture for which I am forever grateful to my younger self for taking. A ridiculous grocery cart with the ride-in car attached to the front in blasting primary blue and yellow, parked in the middle of traffic in the cereal aisle. Inside the cab, hands grasping the plastic steering wheels, sits my oldest son, almost six. There’s a bench seat and wheels for two, but he is using both. Up top in the traditional child seating area of the metal cart is my youngest son, bright-eyed, beaming, probably about one, about to throw his snack cup. Inside the cart--the last vessel of the carriage intended to hold the food--sits my daughter, at four, eyes anxious, her toothless smile too wide. At the outset, a doomed mission. Or did I know, even then, the insignificance of the groceries themselves? 

---

“Growing Season” Post #7: “The Begin Again” by Sarah Smith

SARAH SMITH

The Begin Again (A Sonnet)

It is the exact moment when life as
it was once known comes to a final end,
inevitably, that one’s virtue has
the opportunity to come forth: tend
the present garden to sow fresh seeds for
a peaceful future. Energy is the
new currency and health is wealth. A sore
heart works harder for hope— rest is the key.
Take everything away and learn that all
remaining is essence and choice. To live
life in fear or to live with love. To fall
deeply into chance with trust or to give
into ways of primal survival: fight,
flight, freeze, fawn. Clarity offers insight.

---

“Growing Season” Post #6: “Growing Season” by Sally Silvennoinen

SALLY SILVENNOINEN

Growing Season
 
Dreams of life
Freedom
No clock
Sleep until you wake
Pee in the woods
and dig holes.
 
No plans
No communication
No thoughts
Brain numbing
No problems solved.
 
Ahhhhhhhh!
Life in nature
Commune with birds
and animals
cut a tree
Catch fish
Pee off a boat.
 
Busy is
walking around in circles
all day to accomplish
nothing and
nothing gets done.
 
Simple meals
a loaf of bread
a pot of bean soup
It will last all week.
 
Just sitting
my rump
on a stump 
on the porch 
watching the sun
the wind, a cloud
and a spider watching me.
 
Darkness
I stand
Take a pee
and go
to bed.


---

 

“Growing Season” Post #5: “Courage and Rage Are Sisters” by Amy Higgins

AMY HIGGINS

Rage and Courage Are Sisters

My rage blooms like a blush
across cheeks and neck and chest—
lit like a cherry bomb by parents
whose love I fought to win, feared to lose.
Five and trapped between trenches
in no-child’s-land, to choose
a side would mean divorce—
a dark silence worse than noise,
the world unraveling.
I grew skilled at containment—
learned to absorb their rage,
stuff the overflow in a jar in my belly,
turn to them my sunflower face.

That face grew to fit my face
until I thought she was the real one.
Even now, with both parents dead,
at a whiff of righteous,
purifying rage, I tend to pinch
that flame with bare fingers,
swallow wrath like smoke.

Once when I needed her most,
I looked in the mirror,
and rage was there, ready to rip
my son’s smarmy, two-faced
fourth grade teacher’s lying throat open,
but when I walked into her office, I choked—
my rare, beautiful rage
turned on me and stalked off.

Now, somehow, courage
is sculpting something new
from old stone.
Every morning in the mirror
I tell her, It’s go time, you badass sister.
Rage notched her belt every time
I let my children down. Courage tells me, 
You still have time to get this right.

---

“Growing Season” Post #4: “Growing of the mind of the season” by Ayowole Oladeji

AYOWOLE OLADEJI

Growing of the mind of the season 

The day we see fades like a howling wolf it feels empty inside 
Not seeing how you would progress with love and passion 
Growing with the beautiful season of love manifest in love 

Sometimes it feels strange to the eye knowing how your growth in 
The season will transcend through the blink of an eye is nothing
That you can imagine just that everything becomes clear and lovely
Growing and seeing the season change shows you how the body changes with growth purifies changes through the darkest times of our lives is so beautiful and lovely in the eye of beauty

---