to see them stretch, break earth, and climb—
grumbles at two planned rows of radishes
which neither of us likes
soon they’ll clot the ground with white, hot roots
that will crack, spring seed, and rot
but I plant anything that does its growing underground—
potatoes, carrots, turnips, beets—
private, misshapen, dirty
taking time, not
dangling in the air from stake-held strings
* * *
She loves to see creation forming
persuasively in the humid air
swaying, green
I need to know it’s happening
in the ground beneath me
fretfully, unseen