Life in the Garden

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I can spend hours tending to plants-
The quiet, the peace, the purpose,
The fresh air and leafy greens.

There are stories out in the garden
Of success and nourishment,
Of failure and rotting,
Of flood and drought,
And all in between.

Was the Garden a place?
Or was it a state of being?
How perfect it must have been,
But our hands got greedy,
Our hands got prideful,
Our hands got lustful,
Our hands got gluttonous.

In this garden, I will never be king.
I’m a humble carrier of water,
Wielder of tools and knowledge
That my subjects depend
On the work of my hands-
The greedy hands,
The prideful hands,
The lustful hands,
The gluttonous hands.
And here in this place
I am but one subject
Among others in need-
Refreshing and refreshed
That I have little control,
But that control can be put
To good use.