from my mother’s father:
a cardboard box full of opaque
film containers

desiccated garden seeds –
canisters labeled with grease pencil
in his shaky hand:
Italian parsley,
Ma’s-Myra hybrid tomatoes,
marigolds, 1997
                                                                      his legacy of
long-gone growing seasons –
omitted from his will,
just like me.

He would have preferred
                                                                       carefully culled
                                                                       of creation
claimed by one of his own
Instead they sat abandoned
beneath the greenhouse planting table
where they found me
                                                                       with beginnings,
                                                                       rattling with spring.