In a little corner of Johannesburg,
a woman bends to earth -
hands deep in the kind of quiet
only soil understands.
She plants colour beside survival:
zinnias, dahlias, kale,
a scattering of cosmos among chard,
sunlight and food
woven into rows.
Ducks chatter like old aunts
in the corner of her yard,
while her garden swells
with the small, defiant miracle
of beauty made by hand.
She is not waiting for spring -
she is spring,
cracking open old ground
to remind it how to bloom.
In a city of fences and flight,
she chooses to root,
to coax life from scraps of sun
and leftover rain.
Lisa- who plants life
