In 1973 when my family moved to
In the Garden
There are no trees, just an expanse of dirt.
While Mother and Dad work, I sit on the steps,
study seed packets of peas, corn, tomatoes,
read the labels, gaze at the pictures.
I’m only twelve.
In the distance, sirens wail.
“It sounds like fire engines,” says Dad.
In the house, the phone rings.
I hurry to answer it.
A male voice asks for my mother.
I rush outside, call her to the phone,
“Oh my god! We’ll be right there.”
“Ed, we need to pick up Andy at the police station.
He was playing with matches near that shack
at the bottom of the hill when it caught fire.”
The garden is abandoned.
What are your memories of gardening when you were growing up? Did you help your father or mother plant a garden? Did you grow flowers, vegetables, or both? Please feel free to share your memories by leaving a comment below.