Sonnet for the Tendered Garden

Tender shrub, green leaves of its foliage, the curl of a baby’s fingernail, knocked over by storm, its brush crumbling to touch— how did I miss it—it’s all that I can do—for those I could not save—but twist the stubborn bush from its tangled roots & turn it upright as if giving birth to a baby in breach. I don’t mind mud underneath my nails, worms my fingers touch (they enrich the soil), mosquitos swarming crazily (it’s one hundred degrees!), circling my head like a halo of distrust.   It’s nature’s promise I curse. All those weeks when I prayed for a triumphant birth.