And, in a community garden in North London
sumptuous, fecund soil sends a charge of good energy through the soles
of a brown-skinned barefoot baby, learning that dirt is not just dirt.
“Women who lead with the land” plant light fragrant Cho Cho, milky Soursop,
magenta fire skinned Dragon Fruit, cream fleshed Sweet Potato, Cane.
The Women who leaven kitchen scraps for sprouting
Sun-earth root vegetables speak gently with lilting patois tongue
with love, encouragement to the soil. To patiently restore ritual practice,
they pray: Come, seed and grain, fruit, root! Bulk in body
against these colder climes, push through!
And they work the land some more for a generation
of melanated microbiomes, young and disoriented crashing along concrete pavements –
city worn, and in confusion. In need, of cultural fusion.
Unification: slow calming Caribbean tradition with the conflicting existence
of a fast-paced race to assemble a whole face in a strange land,
on land estranged. So the women say – It’s all Earth! Reclaim! Work this land with us, with love!
Return the children to soil, to humus, dark bark, clay and bone,
mycobacterium vaccae – good bacteria feeding mycelia- nature’s social media,
ancient broadcasting of hidden histories of home seed, grain, fruit and root
before colonial botanists began blowing up the cornerstones of culture,
balanced boulders of Indigenous backbones. Wisdom brought by boat, by foot
hidden in the Dreadlocks and braids of Men Indigenes who protect and heal.
Earth’s insight in the breast milk of Mother Storytellers who listen to the speaking scent of land
to the crumbling of soil between fingers, hold it to the nostrils of teens
to teach their taste buds the beginning. “Open young eyes to what you have never seen:
a purple tomato or a grape with a seed, or a scotch bonnet hanging from the vine.
And, when the streetlights pop on, there are koras, violas
and the precious patter of Djembe drums playing in a grow tunnel in North London, singing
in Latina and creole in the cactus house, incanting the tincture of cultural resilience.
And in the autumn dusk, a drop of Chinese sorghum, sweet cane
iron, magnesium, potassium rich, is placed on the lips of baby Isiah.
And he smiles in rapture with so much oxygen and women’s laughter
and the soft words of Elders warming the chilled air,
who deftly de-pulp sacred seeds, fifty generations strong, from orange pumpkin melba.
Miraculous seeds, to be handed to the next in line,
so they can eat their culture, be nourished by its soil strong song,
making sure they are brave to plant in winter and ready for harvest,
in a future of growing food that has already come.
Poet: Zena Edwards is a performance poet of Caribbean heritage and African descent whose work promotes the ‘re-humanisation’ and ‘re-membering’ of communities. Contact: edwardszena@proton.me
This poem accompanies a photostory in Rooted Magazine on nourishing community gardens in London.
Download pdf (slightly shortened version)
This poem is part of Issue 2-2025: Cultivating health and healing
