Transplanting the Leeks

Small shovel in one hand,
crackling black container
in the other, I walk down
to the garden
to plant leeks.

Slender green stems
need to be separated
roots spread out
in stronger soil, whipped
by harsher winds.
Cradling them gently, I feel the softness
of the pointed spears
between my fingers, still vulnerable
bending easily.

Tousled white roots teased out
I slip them,
one by one
into their earthy trough,
sprinkle between them
-blessing? parting gift?-
the last soft dirt
fallen from their roots.

Membranes will grow
around white cores
hugging tightly
the tender heart.

Returning, I find my son
and husband at the kitchen table
discussing seed rates and fertilizer
the price of land:
How much is needed
to make a profit, raise
a family?

It’s time for my son
to spread roots
in new soil, be tested
by stronger winds.

Skin after skin will grow.
How many does it need
to shield the tender core?

~ Susanne von Rennenkampff

Susanne writes: “I immigrated from Germany in 1981 and have lived on a grain farm in central Alberta since. Fascinated by the interaction between humans and nature my poetry and memoir pieces often deal with this topic.”

One Response to “Transplanting the Leeks”

  1. I recall your reading this lovely poem at a Women Word Weavers meeting. It is well worth another read, another ponder. Thanks.

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