In June, I wrote a post about Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) that included a memoir poem about picking strawberries in my grandfather’s garden. Every visit to the home of my maternal grandparents in summertime meant a trip to Dzidzi’s garden to pick fresh vegetables. Dzidzi loved sharing what he grew with relatives and neighbors.
Here’s is a poem about my memories of my visits to my grandfather’s garden:
My mother and I arrive at my grandparents’ house
late one Sunday afternoon.
Babci greets us in the kitchen
with cold drinks clinking with ice cubes.
Dzidzi fetches a small wooden basket
from the cellar, takes my hand,
and walks me down the stone path to his garden.
He leans over a tomato plant,
holds a fat red globe in his cupped hand,
and looks at me. I nod approval.
I can almost taste the tomato’s warm, juicy flesh.
We choose a dozen more and place them in the basket.
We pick three green, glossy-skinned peppers,
pull up a bunch of feather-topped carrots,
enough beets for my mother to make a pot of zimny barszcz
thickened with sour cream and floating with cucumber slices.
Every visit to my grandparents’ house
is the same this season—
a small harvest of vegetables—
and when we leave, I take home
a little basket of Dzidzi’s garden.
Jone has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Check It Out.