november 14, 2019 [poem]

“Don’t water them on top!”
the eccentric garden lady said sharply 

I held
a dark green hose
in my hand
to water the children’s garden
a small patch
among the community plots
where we let kids
play at gardening
and if they made any mistakes
well, no biggee, right?

“Don’t water the plants on top,”
she repeated
“You wash the caterpillars off.”
she held a handful of caterpillars
pastel green and squirming
in her hand
between her caterpillars
and my hose
there seemed to be
a symmetry to our situations 

on the other side
of the community garden fence
the police set up
a command center
overhead
helicopters hovered
and firetrucks
pulled into the parking lot
while ambulances
raced screaming
to the school

hundreds of students
some crying
some in shock
some laughing nervously
milled about
waiting for parents
to pick them up

the lucky ones
would get that chance

“School shooting,”
I told the caterpillar lady
“I asked as I pulled into to the garden.”

the caterpillar lady nodded then said:
“Spray the water down low.  
Don’t wash the caterpillars off.  
The milkweed plants they lived on have died.  
They need a new place to grow.”

it was my turn to nod
the caterpillars and our garden
couldn’t comprehend the tragedies
we humans heaped upon ourselves
they needed to grow
and the least we could do
was stay out of their way 

© Buzz Dixon