Garden Theology

The Cauliflower

I wanted to be a cauliflower
all brain and ears,
thinking on the origin of gardens
and the divinity of him
who carefully binds my leaves.

With my blind roots touched
by the songs of worms,
and my rough throat throbbing
with strange, vegetable sounds,
perhaps I'd feel the parting stroke
of a butterfly's wing . . .

Not like my cousins, the cabbages,
whose heads, tightly folded,
see and hear nothing of this world,
dreaming only on the yellow
and green magnificence
that is hardening within them.

by John Haines


This, to me, is an elegant poem about so many vital things -- among them, worldviews, joy, and the common miracles that grace the life of a believer. Like all good poems, it deepens with repeat readings (oh, go ahead, read it again; the Queen will wait). The second stanza is a verbal wonder -- with simple, earthy words expressing ideas that theologians toss around many syllables to convey. It's a personal favorite, destined to be hand-lettered on my kitchen wall someday.

What do you think of it?