The Adair Park Community Garden

Lyrics

Here.
At the gate.
The air smells of warm tomato leaves.
And good soil.
Just stand here a minute with me.
Listen.
This used to be nothing.
A gap between houses on Mayland Avenue.
Just weeds and busted glass from 1993.
Now look.
These raised beds, wood gone gray from the sun.
Each one a little country.
Kale over here, its leaves like blue-green lace.
The tomato vines reaching, tied up with strips of old t-shirts.
Someone's whole afternoon in that careful knot.
This is where the stitching happens.
Not with needle and thread.
With hands in the dirt.
The woman who's been on her porch since 1978.
The young couple who just moved in last fall.
Their fingers meet in the same soil.
Asking about water.
Sharing the good seeds.
I saw Mr. Henderson showing the new guy, the one in the house they just flipped.
How to stake a vine so the fruit doesn't rot.
No talk of property tax or the price of the house.
Just the weight of a coming tomato.
And that one bed, you see it?
Collard greens, then a row of okra, then collards again.
A conversation in planting.
Old ways and new ways, growing side-by-side.
This is where the stitching happens.
Not with needle and thread.
With hands in the dirt.
The woman who's been on her porch since 1978.
The young couple who just moved in last fall.
Their fingers meet in the same soil.
Asking about water.
Sharing the good seeds.
It's more than just food.
It's a claim.
On a piece of forgotten ground.
Saying, we are here.
We are tending to this place.
And in the quiet work of pulling weeds,
we are tending to each other.
The sun's going down.
The work is done for today.
But the roots, they keep growing.
Down in the dark.
Knitting it all together.