Raised Beds Some say it’s sacrilege to plant above the earth, but I believe things can grow wherever there is sun and air. And rather than bury the seeds like tiny graves I carve out of bark little boats and punch holes in the base where water can travel through. I am not a gardener or a creator but rather an inventor of ways to let the light into dark spaces reserved for claustrophobic fear. When my plants rise and send their roots down below like Persephone flaunting her beauty to Hades, they will never for one second feel That I buried them alive.
Sarah Clayville writes and teaches from the wilds of central Pennsylvania with a particular focus on moments of discovery. Her work can be seen in such journals as The Threepenny Review, Literary Orphans, and The Gravity of the Thing. For more of her writing and her literary adventures with her daughter, head to SarahSaysWrite.com.
Amethyst Review 