My daughter takes me by the hand
“Mama, come and see what I planted!”
She brings me shoes; no reason to decline
Her insistent hand pulls me along
This woman child, nearly nine, no longer only mine
She takes me to the graveside of a rotten spud
Half buried in the earth
The Worms have eaten holes right through
We bend, admiring its vast decaying tunnels
“Mama, did you even know I planted it?”
I hadn’t, yet the shoots
Had sprouted waxy green and new