i never understood his passion for it,
planning meticulously how many feet
it might take,
how much to put in the ground.
how far apart each row must be,
knowing just how much space the late-bloomers
needed, and when,
so he could remove the early ones before they were overwhelmed.
now, i understand -
when planting my first garden,
just what it was my father always did
and i took for granted.
my hands remember how,
after many long years of avoiding the work,
they remember how to plant a garden.