🐌 Our Garden Plot

It was a dry, dead patch of land
Where even the pebbles shriveled
Beneath the scorching sun
But you said we could make it grow
Anything, something, everything 

You said it wouldn’t be too hard
To dig a well, and carve a canal
To install vapor towers and solar shields
On our hands, blisters formed and burst 
In mockery of your boast

Every night our bones ached
Skin caked with sweat and dirt
We lay cradled in a gentle embrace
Quietly dreading the next plague
That would decimate our crop

When that first sapling produced
Its first small pear, no larger than my palm
You sliced it like a christmas ham
Like we were starving peasants
We toasted “To us and our harvest” 

My blisters are now callouses
The canal flows like a river
Water turbines hum with electric life
Vapor machines draw dew
Across that once dry, dead patch of land

I wish you could see it now
No longer a sapling, our first tree’s roots 
Reach deep around where you sleep 
Still cradled in a gentle embrace
We remain in this place we made