Look! Mama, 
how the stragglers of Spring  
catch up to the Daffodils  
 
The garden listens 
to your lullabies 
humming down on your Mama knees  
 
I watch you pray to the soil  
The rain pours for you, Mama  
Is it okay to call this religion?  
 
I've abandoned believing  
‘cause Mamas cry  
like songbirds 
 
for women forced to  
sow seeds 
unwanted 
 
Mama, how do you stop those  
who want to steal the colors  
of Spring from our sisters?  
 
Look!  
 
at the tomatoes on the vine  
like buttons on the blouse 
that stretches across your new chest 
 
These parts of you 
are made of survival   
Look, Mama,  
 
some of the things we  
women do not mean to plant 
grow anyway throughout our bodies 
 
Weeds peek beneath the skin  
and still you learn 
to surface the dirt  

You nurture what  
owes you nothing, Mama 
 
It sprouts nonetheless  
the good and the bad 
 
If only we could speak to one another  
like you do to the Daisies  
 
If we could whisper  
I am proud of you, Mama  
 
through our root systems  
these networks beneath our feet  
 
Mama, we must learn  
the language of each other  
 
like the garden has learned 
the language of the garden