Fertilizer
by Caroline Tanski
Lend me that shovel. I鈥檒l dig a garden
here in October to winter the roots
you left behind. The taste of tomato, the basil
leaf on the deck at Fifth Street, nine-dollar
beers at Fenway in July, your scarred right
ear. Your hand claiming the small of my back
when we stood in line for coffee Sundays,
your Levis, India Quality
in Kenmore. The symphony in winter
and 11:30 walks. The children
we won鈥檛 have. I鈥檒l dig the furrows deep,
straight, in the dirt where you are not. Trust
to the earth these last things, these only mine
things, and maybe by spring they鈥檒l surprise me.
Unfold leaves and buds between my bare toes
this garden that won鈥檛 even smell like you.
91视频 the Author
Caroline Tanski edits, writes, and lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in burntdistrict, Noctua Review, and Knee Jerk. She earned her MFA from Chatham University and will soon beat a retreat to New England, where she was raised.