The Raised Bed

A guest post from

Samuel Quinn

who writes at the

The Pony Express

. We ‘met’ on Substack last week discussing the nature of poetry in the comments of another post. I love the imagery in this poem. I won’t mention specifics so you can experience it for yourself.
-Adam

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The Raised Bed

Armed with stones—about the size of a shoebox—my father
        constructed a flower bed.
I, a quiet boy, sat among grasshoppers feeling his
        deep exhales.
build (I thought for me) this castle topped with
        geraniums and zinnias.
Rising—my hands joined with my father’s hands
        and he let me
place my hands on the grainy slab so that he
        held the stone above me and
I, beneath and in front of him, as sturdy Atlas I
        bore this present world.
We settled the stone into its corner and, hands on his,
        pushed it into place.