Shade Garden

The tree of heaven in my neighbor's yard
is blocking the light in mine.

Five years ago tomatoes flourished,
sunflowers; now moss

infects flagstone, feral violets
hunch beneath nettle,

morning glory
turns its face away.

But if the sun doesn't rise, and rain
whips the ferns till they break,

tomorrow will be mushrooms,
beige and round, like the Chinese pills

I began this week.
One can garden the shade,

can kneel at night with a spade
and beg bleeding heart

to shake its wand
of lucky silver teeth.

Copyright © 2003 Patrick Donnelly All rights reserved
from The Charge
Ausable Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission