Jean L. Kreiling

The Gardener

More arrogant than God, you free the phlox
and pansies from their flats and bid them thrive
in promised land you’ve cleared of weeds and rocks,
and you take all the praise when they survive.
Releasing from its basement hibernation
a vinyl-hided beast whose legs unfold
to bear the burden of your relaxation,
you bask in sunlight’s offerings of gold.
Unbidden, one fat bumblebee patrols
the garden, and you let it loiter there,
your wrathful swat reserved for buzzing souls
who sin by hovering too near your chair.
When white clouds yield to gray, you don’t complain:
you’re sure you’ve heard the pansies pray for rain.


The Whittling Boy
	after the painting by Winslow Homer

His half-splayed legs and half-slumped back
make clear it’s not a chore;
you sense the boy just has a knack,
one exercised before,

that satisfies an unnamed urge
to make a thing that’s never
been seen before, but will emerge
in just an hour’s endeavor.

The log’s his easy chair, the sun
a warm embrace. He’ll wield
his knife until day’s nearly done,
then leave the green-gold field

and head home with vague gratitude:
he halfway understands
the subtle gifts of solitude
and working with his hands.

Jean L. Kreiling is the author of three collections of poems; a fourth, On the Cusp, will be published by Able Muse Press in late 2024.  Her work has been awarded the Rhina Espaillat Poetry Prize, the Frost Farm Prize, the Able Muse Write Prize, and three New England Poetry Club prizes, among other honors.  She is Professor Emeritus of Music at Bridgewater State University; she lives on the coast of Massachusetts.