Herb Song by Sally Zakariya

I conjure the perfect herb garden in my mind: 

anise, basil, cardamom, fennel nestling

in alphabetical order with oregano,

rosemary, sage, and thyme. 

But in my actual herb garden mint runs amok.

Thai basil from next door thrusts its dark leaves

over drooping dill. And don’t ask what happened

to the parsley and chives. Rabbits perhaps.

        Or fate.

Working in my dream garden I’ve got plant smarts

handed down from Mother, a trowel-and-fork

woman, new gardening gloves each spring.

She always knew the scientific names,

not just the kitchen ones – Artemisia dracunculus,

Thymus vulgaris, so much more dramatic

than tarragon and thyme.

I expect she’s tending distant gardens in the sky

these days, not just herbs, but wildflowers

and roses, her favorites.

Listening for her in the yard I hear only the wind.

So I conjure her voice. Don’t forget to weed,

she says, a smile behind her words.

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Sally Zakariya’s poetry has appeared in some 75 print and online journals and been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Her publications include Muslim Wife, The Unknowable Mystery of Other People, Personal Astronomy, and When You Escape. The editor of a poetry anthology, Joys of the Table, Zakariya blogs at www.butdoesitrhyme.com.