Bulldagger in the Garden

I wanted to call it mother—
this longing for the ground.
I planted strawberries too soon
but somehow, they survived
the late snow of April.
This was my first time
in the garden growing my heart
full of the memories of
my grandmothers: Myra
in a mumu billowing indigo
tending melons and mustard
greens. Elsie with soil on
her calloused hands pulling
grape tomatoes before
they ripened too vermilion
from the vine. I thought
by now I would have grown
out of my need to remember
the women who raised me
this way—without the shame
of my child body broken
underneath its own failure:
I could not be a girl then or
a woman now—even though
I wanted the tradition to be
handed down like a recipe
or tip: Plant zinnia and marigold
in with vegetables to cope with insects.
Plant strawberries near tomatoes
to make them sweet—