Garden Poem

A delicious curiosity, that the snow pea is
sweeter than the sweet,
and these vines that have lain limp all season,
in defiance of growth, rubbery mocking artifices, an afterthought,
too pale and yellow for health, in need of a better guide, have sprung waist-high--
overtaken their designed stakes to look for better props,
developed hardy white buds--
a species of refusal through and through.

A pea, a piece, an afterthought
indestructable, yet singularly delicate
how delicacy is decadent,
how the pea has no time for this,
how seeming is more than seems,
a sturdy structure, a healthy thing.

A single pea, a piece, a part
a touch, a flavor of creation's art.
I pile them high into my cart, not much begrudging their meagre start
though in all honesty, it still bothers me
an afterthought contains so much prosperity.