Proportions
A mélange of garbage / and triumphant blooms.
Thinning out seedlings:
the harvest will yield enough
for bird and table.
The child wants to save
every plant we’re tugging out.
I talk about odds
and tithes. “God’s greedy,”
she declares. I reply,
“Aren’t we also?”
She frowns at the limp
green and white scraps on her palm.
She hasn’t seen yet
how compost is more
than a heap of waste and flies.
Hasn’t yet learned
how most of our lives
are a mélange of garbage
and triumphant blooms
—how incessantly
we measure ourselves to see
if we measure up.
This poem appeared in the Summer 2013 issue of UU World (page 18). See sidebar for links to related resources.
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