First Garden

First Garden

By: Joy Ortiz

It all started as a swath of lawn. 

The sunniest spot in my yard

Begged to be a garden. 

I was pregnant with my first child

As I knelt and planted

Tomato after tomato after tomato plant,

All of the peppers,

Rows of seeds,

And hope

In the freshly turned soil. 

I cut long rolls of black plastic,

Laying it between the rows to smother 

Any trespassing weeds. 

I waited. 

Spring melted into summer, and

My garden bloomed. 

Tiny yellow blossoms gave way

To swelling tomato fruit

That grew as my belly did,

Expanding with new life. 

Tiny peppers grew. 

Green-fingered jalapeños and

Lumpy, bumpy bells

Abounded in my beautiful garden. 

Broccoli and beets,

Onions, lettuce, and green beans

Climbed out of the earth

And spread their leaves beneath the summer sun. 

When the tomatoes ripened,

There were more than I could even pick. 

Basket after basket I hauled away,

Yet the fallen, split-skinned casualties of gravity

Littered the ground 

Beneath their massive parent plants. 

My garden was bursting with the fruits

And vegetables

Of my labor. 

A late September labor

Of a different kind

Brought me a different and even greater reward:

A daughter. 

As autumn drew a shroud

Over my first garden,

I held my greatest harvest 

In my arms,

Thankful for both. 

A Family of Roots

A Family of Roots

By: Joy Ortiz 

She is a girl with roots

Twisted and strong. 

They branch out,

Stretching away beneath the ground. 

You see her,

The young, scarred tree,

But do you know

What makes her stand tall?

She was a cast-off,

A whirlybird

Born, then flung away

From the parent tree. 

Through the air she flew,

Not knowing where she would land. 

She fell on the sidewalk

And into a hard, inhospitable world. 

How would she ever grow here?

She was small,

Vulnerable, and

Alone

Until a giant hand

Lifted her. 

She found herself gazing 

Into an unknown face

As the man,

For it was a man,

Carried her away. 

With a voice stronger than wind

And warmer than sun,

He spoke. 

"Well, little one!

You will never grow down there!

Let me take you somewhere better."

He took her to an arboretum

Filled with trees of every size and variety. 

Massive oaks,

Weeping willows,

Japanese maples,

Scotch pines,

Fruit trees,

Nut trees,

Trees tall and small,

Sturdy and delicate,

Deciduous and evergreen

All lived together in the garden. 

Each had its place

Like prized artifacts in a museum. 

Beneath each tree

A plaque bore its name. 

"This is my garden," said the man proudly. 

"Do you see all of these fine trees?

They were once cast-off, lonely seeds

Just like you. 

I found them and brought them here

To see what they would become."

The whirlybird

Gazed in wonder 

At the trees and the man

Who had planted them. 

She was speechless. 

"Here, my dear," said the man,

"You will become

A tree."

He knelt upon the ground.

With a gardening trowel

He dug a small hole in the sod,

Exposing the fine, black earth below. 

"Are you ready?" he asked the seed. 

She trembled

As he laid her in the hole. 

"Yes," she whispered, and

He buried her. 

Time passed. 

The seed began to grow

Roots. 

First a root named Mom grew

With father and brothers branching from it.

Next grew a root named Mom and Dad

With brothers and sisters

Stretching out from its nourishing center, but

A burrowing pest 

Attacked and devoured part of it.

Then it was only Dad

And the siblings who clung to him. 

There were grandma and grandpa roots,

Birth-sister roots,

A weak, sickly birth-mother root,

Friend roots,

Mentor roots, and

Church roots. 

Each brought the seed

Nourishment,

Stability, and

Strength.

Up from them

She grew. 

She pierced the dark soil,

Emerging into the sun. 

"There you are, little one,"

Said the gardener. 

He had been kneeling above her

With a watering can. 

"Welcome to the world, little maple tree."

Under his care

She grew and grew. 

She weathered many storms. 

Through drought and downpour,

Pests and pestilence,

The man cared for her. 

She began to branch out,

Reaching her limbs toward

Neighboring trees. 

Her leaves rustled with the wind.

Her trunk grew

Thick and strong. 

She became a home for birds,

A haven for squirrels,

A shelter from the rain. 

Beneath her,

Supporting her,

Growing from the heart

Of a whirlybird seed

Stretched her family. 

Not a family tree, but

A tangled,

Twisted,

Beautiful

Family of roots. 

They hold her fast. 

They give her life. 

Past spreads out below her, and

Above her

Only the sky. 

Return to Eden

Return to Eden

You know me. 

You see me. 

The good and the ugly. 

You love every part. 

I can stand before you

Naked and unashamed. 

No fig leaves separate me from you

Anymore. 

I've walked backwards through time,

Guided by a map

Pieced together

From countless sermons and stories,

Snippets of songs,

Sunrises, secrets revealed,

Timely hugs, unexpected gifts,

Baby snuggles, and

Flowers that bloom in a broken sidewalk's cracks. 

Your love in all things beautiful

Led me to this place. 

My heart is yours. 

Childlike, I came. 

You met me here. 

No flaming sword kept me out. 

The gate was open. 

I don't fear my father. 

I don't dread my friend. 

I am simple. 

Imperfect. 

Beloved. 

Broken. 

Beautiful. 

You made a way for me to return,

So I came back

To paradise,

To you,

To all things good,

To unfettered love. 

Because you guided me here,

I am not afraid. 

Because you wanted me,

I am not afraid. 

Because you made me,

I am not afraid. 

Because you redeemed me, 

I am not afraid.

Because you love me,

I am not afraid

To return to Eden. 

The Perfect Ruffle-Bottom Pants

The Perfect Ruffle-Bottom Pants

Two days later, my shoulders are still sore from my search for the perfect ruffle-bottom pants. Brandon and I were picking out our fanciest outfits to wear to our friend Ruth's wedding. We knew it would be a swanky affair.  As we tried on different clothes and perfected our look, we realized that we didn't have a fancy dress for baby Hazel to wear to the wedding. Oh, sure, she had cotton sundresses, but those simply wouldn't do.  We needed something better, and it was already the night before the wedding. 

The obvious solution was for me to stay up until three o'clock in the morning crafting a dress out of scraps of black lace and hot pink chiffon. Baby couture is always a very serious affair, so I spared none of my skill in crafting the prettiest little dress I knew how to make.  When I finally collapsed into bed I was giddy with my accomplishment.  Little did I know that I was forgetting something. 

I put the dress on baby Hazel in the morning to fit the straps.  That was when I realized what I had forgotten: the diaper cover. Every little baby dress comes with a color-coordinating diaper cover. My hand-made creation had none. I had a plain white cotton one, but it didn't MATCH.  The dress was pink and black. Clearly I needed to buy a new diaper cover. A black one. With ruffles. 

With this vision before me, I took my oldest girl to her grandma's house and set out, baby in tow, to find the perfect ruffle-bottom pants.  I just knew I would find them at Avant Garden, a crafty shop in downtown Ottawa, IL, where I had glimpsed numerous frilly baby items for sale. Since I only planned to visit one shop, I parked nearby and hefted Hazel's bulky infant car seat onto my hip. It would be easier to shop if I didn't have to hold a baby in my arms. 

I strode into Avant Garden with my characteristic optimism. I just knew that they would have exactly what I wanted. Except they didn't. The sales lady gave me a tour of the baby merchandise, and there were zero ruffle-bottom pants of any color. I was surprised and disappointed. However, the helpful lady offered me a ray of hope. One of their biggest baby item vendors had a booth at the downtown flea market. They might have more options there. 

Determined to find the perfect baby pants, I lugged Hazel and her car seat out of the store and onto the sidewalk. I peered down LaSalle Street.  It was only two or three city blocks to the flea market. I could carry her that far.  I set out to find the vendor. 

Arriving at the flea market with my heavier-by-the-moment burden, I began looking for the vendor's booth. I saw hair bows and cutting boards, painted signs and upcycled furniture. As I traipsed through the grassy aisles, a slight hint of despair began to steal over me. The booth was nowhere to be found. I took an extra turn around the stalls. It wasn't there. Hot and beginning to sweat, I readjusted the bulky car seat, thankful that at least the baby was sleeping. Defeated by the fruitless flea market search, I trudged back up the sidewalk the way I had come. I popped into a dance shop and a custom tee shirt shop on the way, praying for a random stroke of luck that would leave the perfect pants waiting for me in an unexpected place. Suddenly, I was struck with a new hope. Perhaps the booth was at the other part of the flea market by the movie theater. It had to be. What was one more block to walk in search of the perfect baby pants?  I ignored the cramping in my shoulders and hiked the car seat further up on my hip. It was my last chance. 

As I poked my head into booths of jewelry, lawn ornaments, doll clothes, and gutter covers, my spirit sank. No baby clothes. All of my searching, all of my sweating and walking, the pain in my shoulders; the exhaustion was for nothing.  Tired and annoyed, I retreated into my oven of a car and drove home. 

In a last ditch hope for a miracle, I dug through a box of too-big baby clothes in my basement. There were no black ruffle-bottom baby pants, but I did find a pair of huge black tights with silver hearts on them. Those could work...if I sewed them. I could sew them!

Triumphantly I wound a bobbin of black thread and threaded my sewing machine. I cut the feet off of those huge tights and wrestled the stretchy knit through my machine to close up the ends. At long last, I put them on my baby. Finished. 

It was a rush trying to get everything else ready for the wedding. My punctual husband had been giving me time warnings for hours, but there just wasn't enough time left to do everything. We ended up leaving the house late, and Brandon was frustrated and tense. We had to drive all the way to Chicago, and we were running late, all because I had wasted the entire morning on my empty quest for the perfect baby pants. 

Late turned into later when we hit a traffic jam on I55.  There was no way we would make it to the wedding on time. We drove as quickly as we could into the city and parked about a block from the massive Catholic church where Ruth and Danny were getting married.  As we tiptoed, half an hour late, into the sanctuary, I prayed that no one would turn around and glare at me. My heels on the polished granite floor sounded like tiny gunshots. 

No one noticed as we slid into a back pew and heaved sighs of relief.  As Ave Maria filled the room, I marveled at the beauty and holiness of a space dedicated to housing God in lavish splendor.  Stained glass windows, intricate carvings, statues, the grandest of grand pianos, and elaborate paintings gave the room a splendid majesty. At the front our friends were standing in their wedding attire.  The priest recited solemn phrases, and the guests responded, participating in the ceremony with songs, liturgy, communion, and the gift and receipt of God's peace. We had missed the marriage vows, but we made it in time to be a part of the joyous rituals that unite friends and family with God and each other. 

Ruth and Danny were married. As Brandon and I spent the evening eating, drinking, talking, and laughing with friends, do you know what no one noticed?  Hazel's tights. They absolutely didn't matter. What had seemed like such a big deal to me that morning was completely forgotten, and I was the only one who had noticed or cared about it in the first place. I had let myself become so preoccupied with one little detail that I sacrificed my own peace and happiness on the altar of perfectionism. As I held my beautiful baby in her time consuming, elaborate outfit, I knew that all of the ruffle-bottom pants in the world couldn't make her any more perfect than she already was. She fell asleep in the midst of the dancing and din, completely content. And so was I. 

Why the Stars Shine

Why the Stars Shine

By: Joy Ortiz

The sun was lonely out in space.

Suspended in the dark

He burned with fire wild and bright. 

He remembered early days

When he was young and free;

Just a floating mass of dust and gas;

A nebula among many

Stretched out in the arms of the galaxy. 

Unformed. 

One day, unexpectedly,

His center collapsed. 

Gravity entered his life,

Pulling him inward;

Curling him into a ball.

He was forever changed. 

Slowly spinning,

Trying to cool down,

He sent out weak waves of radiation.

With radio waves he tried to say,

"Something terrible has happened.

I used to be a cloud.  

Can anyone hear me?

I am afraid."

Neighbor supernovas shone

Brilliant and blinding,

Dazzling the little ball. 

Their huge voices

Hit him like shock waves:

"Be like us. 

Do as we say, and one day,

If you are good enough,

If you know all of the answers,

You will be a star like us."

Nearby stars buffeted him with 

The hot gas of their agreement. 

The ball didn't even want to be a star. 

He had been perfectly happy 

As a cloud of dust,

But that part of his life was over. 

What was left for him?

He certainly wanted answers. 

"We will tell you!" cried the stars. 

Their voices washed over him in waves. 

Under the combined influence of the surrounding stars,

He collapsed for the second time. 

Within his crumpled center

Pressure began to build. 

His temperature rose. 

Faster and faster he spun,

Gravity holding him together,

And pressure longing to burst out. 

Gradually, as he whirled,

A central core began to form. 

The rest of him was flung out

Into a disc of dust. 

His new form experienced friction,

Causing him to begin to glow. 

Hotter and hotter he grew. 

He reached 27 billion degrees Fahrenheit. 

That was when his core exploded.

Brilliantly he burst into flame

As his hydrogen turned to helium and energy. 

He was a newborn star. 

So young, so full of energy,

He sent out intense jets of radiation,

Causing surrounding matter to glow. 

His magnetic field 

Sent his starry influence 

Rocketing at 500,000 miles per hour

Trillions of miles into space. 

He was glorious. 

He was the Sun. 

Gradually the Sun began to stabilize.

He noticed things orbiting around him. 

His gravity had attracted certain spheres. 

They came regularly. 

Some were closer to him than others,

But even the farthest ones kept coming back. 

The Sun reached out with rays of light

To see what difference he could make in the various worlds. 

Some were burned or barren. 

Others swirled with beautiful gas clouds,

Reminding him of the nebula he had once been. 

Some were icy and distant. 

Most mimicked him

And had at least one moon

As a companion,

Pulling their satellites around them

Just as he pulled each planet

In his solar system. 

He surveyed these worlds,

Products of his explosive transformation,

Born of his violent past. 

They were beautiful. 

Each was unique. 

Something brought the Sun

Out of his nostalgia. 

From far, far away,

The Sun heard a tiny voice. 

"Where are you, Mr. Sun?

I can't see you. 

The clouds are in the way."

It was a little girl on his third planet. 

"I didn't know there were clouds hiding me, little one," he replied. 

"Oh yes," she replied, "They have been there for quite awhile.

Is anything wrong?"

Wrong?

How could he answer a question 

So small and immense at the same time?

The clouds of which she spoke

Were a piece of her world, not his. 

Yet he wanted to be honest. 

"Child," he replied,

"I am very lonely."

"Why are you lonely?" she asked

With large, concerned eyes.

How could she possibly comprehend 

How it felt

To be a star?

"Well," said the sun,

"I am here out in space,

But no other stars are with me."

The girl looked puzzled. 

"But the heavens are covered with stars," she said. 

"Well yes," admitted the Sun,

"But they are all far, far away 

From where I am.

The closest ones

Are much bigger than me. 

I feel their energy. 

It comes in waves 

That pass over me,

But those stars don't burn

With the same fire

That I do. 

"Doesn't each one have its own fire?" asked the child. 

"Yes," said the Sun,

"But they seem so different from mine."

"Aren't all stars born from dust and gas?" inquired the child. 

"Yes," said the Sun. 

"And isn't it some sort of collapse that causes you to change?"

"Yes," said the sun. 

"And doesn't the force

Thrown from other stars 

Transform you?"

"Yes," said the sun. 

"And doesn't friction and heat 

Ignite you?"

"Yes," said the Sun. 

"Well," said the child,

"What's so different about that?"

In the silence of the heavens,

The Sun began to weep. 

For the first time,

As he gazed into the universe,

He saw. 

"Oh, and Mr. Sun?" 

The girl's voice seemed farther away. 

"Thank you for making my flowers grow."

Birth of a Hazel Tree

Birth of a Hazel Tree

It was night when I felt you stirring

In my womb of earth. 

Awakening, sending forth

The first tremors of change,

You pressed against the dirt. 

I opened my eyes in the dark. 

Was it you?

I had been wrong before. 

Again, you moved within me. 

Could it be?

The ground began to pulse,

Responding to your tiny touch

With living ripples and waves. 

My whole being joyfully cried,

"It is time!"

My hazel seed, on the final day,

Was ready to transform.

She was coming at last. 

The tremors grew as dawn approached. 

Restless and excited,

I could not sleep. 

With busy hands I put the world in order

To make ready for you.

In the next room your father slept.

I knew he would need 

All of his strength

To sustain us during your birth. 

With the sun he rose,

Warm and comforting,

To accompany me in my joyous wait

For you. 

Together

We watched the ground rise and fall,

Timing every wave. 

We ventured forth

To test the soil. 

Would it yield to your tender shoot?

We found it ready. 

Patient rain made hard clods soft,

Breaking them; leaving earth

Fertile and smooth. 

Gentle hands stirred and tilled the dirt above you. 

With every pulse of the ground 

You told us,

"I am coming."

The sun crept across the sky

As morning turned into noon. 

I paced in my dark and quiet house,

Leaning on door jams, bookshelves,

And countertops

While you rocked my frame. 

You grew insistent,

And I laid down to rest. 

At last I knew

It was time to go. 

Your daddy drove us

To the birthing place. 

I carried you, rocking and shuddering,

Up to a darkened room. 

You and I laid down on a snow white bed

And rested. 

Helpful hands tended us. 

Your heartbeat and mine sang together,

"We are well."

We arose from the bed and labored,

Kneeling, sitting, bouncing, crouching; pacing.

We shook together. 

Suspended and carried, 

You turned within me

Into just the right place. 

While the waves rocked us,

Your daddy held us. 

Together we groaned

Deep sounds of making

Like the earth being born;

Like trees bending beneath

Wind and storm. 

But I was not afraid. 

We rested secure;

Heavy in strong arms. 

Again I grew tired

And laid down to rest.

Groaning, stretched out on the snow,

I closed my eyes. 

In the darkness, I felt a pop. 

You rushed toward the surface. 

"She is here. I have to push."

Then we were rocked by a sudden storm. 

Every part of me cried out 

As I strained to bring you forth. 

When the first wave passed,

I shuddered and wept

As gentle hands smoothed my hair

And soft voices consoled me. 

Another wave arose and broke. 

I curled up, screaming with the wind,

And pushed again.  

And again. 

And again, the wave passed away. 

You were so close to the surface. 

The top of your head

Peeked through the soil. 

Excited voices told me

They could see you. 

You were on the cusp of being.

Another wave shook the ground.

With earth-shattering force,

The wind and I

Became one

Calling you out of the depths. 

As the wave began to recede,

A distant voice cried,

"One more push, and she's out!"

In the swirling storm 

The earth and I

Heaved with unfettered violence. 

I, the wind, screamed with all that was within me,

And you burst from the ground

And into your father's hands. 

Your first cries floated into

A quiet room

For the storm had dissipated with your arrival. 

Rooted in patience, labor, and love,

Your new shoot unfurled,

Tender and green with life. 

I cradled you close,

You who grew within me,

And welcomed you to the world. 

The wait was over. 

The sun shone down 

On a precious, perfect

Hazel tree. 

To the Beachcomber

To the Beachcomber

By: Joy Ortiz

I've traveled far 

From where I was;

Made tracks that stretch backward 

Like sunset-lengthened shadows.

I've grown and become

Wiser;

Stronger;

Tender.

I've ventured out of my shell.

But tonight I feel naked

Instead of free. 

Exposed and soft,

Weak and raw,

I lie on sand. 

Will you find me

Gasping for life;

Longing for home?

Stranded on the shore,

I'm panting;

Withering 

In this foreign air;

Baking under glaring sun. 

Oh that a knowing hand would 

Lift me up

And fling me far out to sea. 

Then I could sink beneath 

Saving waves

Settle to the sandy bottom,

And continue my search

For beauty, growth,

And the next size in shells. 

Do you see me lying here?

Will you pick me up 

Or pass me by?

Lift me from this lonely strand

So I might live.