Nepeta Cataria

If I accomplished nothing else today,

I planted Nepeta cataria

inside the broad mouth of a flowerpot

leftover from my grandfather’s passing.

I held a ponytail of her sticky locks

and considered long the origin of her species,

the ancient quality of dirt unearthed

with five extra heaves of the shovel,

and of Annie Dillard for no good reason at all,

ruffling the tips of winter-killed grass

with the flat of her palm.

Loving her not for those words

but for how they make me know her.

I whispered, Nepeta cataria,

an incantation

for the animal of that root bundle

to rouse with startled delight

inside the dark.