Bacon on the Bookshelf

Savory picks for the free range reader

In My Mother’s Garden


Dear Bacon Friends – I just spent several nights at my parents’ home, and in my mother’s garden the flowers were whispering rather loudly amongst themselves…

In the magical garden
September Cle – o – me
feel bound by the ground
so they aim for the sky.

Oh sky, Oh sky! Cry September Cle – o – me,
We do not know why but we must reach the sky!

(Though the sun’s light wanes in September.)

The sturdy liriope
all in a row
bloom purple and perfect
and steady, just so –

alongside September Cle – o – me.

In the magical garden
the ruffalo marigold
glimmer and glow in their prettiest dresses –

We couldn’t care less, say Cle – o – me.

In the magical garden
the phlox bow their heads in their grief
with the weight of their days and their nights.

Look up! Say September Cle – o – me.


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The new terminal at the Nashville airport looks AMAZING!!


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And – thanks for this message on the sidewalk in Raleigh, neighborhood friend I do not know – xoxo


  1. What a lovely ode to your mother’s garden. Cleome has always been a word I like to say too. Anemone is coming soon. Thank you for your posts…many days you make them.

  2. Beautifully written.
    Thanks for brightening my day.

  3. I just discovered your poetic endeavor about my garden which is showing the weight of time! But the cleome reaches ever skyward; it goes on and on with what seems no end, producing endless pods of seeds. I gathered more of these seed pods just this afternoon for the purpose of sharing with you and my sisters. If you ever get a start of cleome, it will repay you vastly every year!

  4. Beautiful garden and beautiful words

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