Another poem from the Writers Almanac that I wanted to share.  We plant our peas a bit differently, with a seeder that we push through the soil.  We are almost 2 months past those first plantings, but enjoy the poem.

First sown

by Marge Piercy

Peas are the first thing we plant
always. We lie full length
on the cold black earth and poke
holes in it for the wrinkled
old men of the seeds.

Nothing will happen for weeks.
Rain will soak them, a white
tablecloth of snow will cover
them and be whisked off.
The moon will sing to them:

open, loosen, let the pale
shoots break out. No,
they are pebbles, they sit
in the earth like false teeth.
They ignore the sweet sun.

Then one unlikely day
the soil cracks along miniature
faults and soon baby leaves
stick out their double heads
and we know we shall have peas.

“First sown” by Marge Piercy, from The Hunger Moon: New & Selected Poems, 1980-2010.

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