Trees and shadows wave at us.
Stones lie curled up, warm in the sun.
The sprinkler chases us across the lawn.
Paddling pool water winks and smiles.
We don’t pull the cat’s tail. We do pull
The blind’s cord so the sun can come in and play.
When reaching out for pea pods, if I squish
A monarch butterfly chrysalis instead,
I feel I have done wrong. And when
Expecting a smooth warm eggplant body
I touch sticky aphids or bird shit, I shudder.
Death in the garden can forewarn me
But what is alive and what dead, and do I know?
Tane seeks out the squishable: worms that ooze,
Gelid snails that writhe slowly, becoming Play doh.
After squishing a slug Tane stretches up, up.
His hands open and shut like a digger.
But he’s still not quite tall enough to squish the sky.