Tish Davis

Ripening

a mailbox flag
silhouetted
in early morning light
and not a person visible
along the road

After paying the driver, I stand near the ditch and look toward the weathered two-story farmhouse, toward the small bedroom that I shared with my sister. The shades are pulled down.

The garden is where it always was, close to the drive and not far from the well. Close enough for you kids to notice the weeds, my father used to say. Close enough for that dog to chase the rabbits. An earthy hue draws me down the driveway—a tomato hanging on the vine. I slip off my shoes and my thin socks for the wash of grass wet with morning dew. The garden is now fenced in. I pinch the fastener holding the chicken wire gate. 

The green beans hand-planted in June are ripening pods. Father has already hoed a space around the melons.

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About the Author

Tish Davis lives in Northern Ohio. Her tanka and related forms have appeared in numerous online and print publications. When she isn’t busy with work and grandchildren she enjoys exploring the local parks with her husband and three dogs.