Ignatius Farm
By Greg Kennedy, SJ
Sparrows and swallows and deep Sleepy Hollows
and what else I don't know.
Kohlrabi and mystery and sacred grace-history
are just some of the things we grow.
There's a definite sense that we're not tenants
though not one of us an acre owns.
There's a definite sense of a real presence
and that no one walks here alone.
The city's at the doorstep,
the city's under our skin.
It wants to end everything,
it always wants to begin.
But here we take a stand
for the peace and the calm.
Here we kiss the land,
down at Ignatius Farm.
Garlic and starlight and murmuring starlings
and sunsets that steal the show.
Pigweed and pigweed, did I mention pigweed?,
uprises out of control.
We work here to learn and to discern
our place in the unfolding play
about the Great Turn towards a new Earth
that's already entered the stage.
Graveyards and gardens, a creek that's called Marden,
let everything co-exist.
Apples, things dappled and St. Francis chapel,
there’s no point making a list.
For the gifts of this place and of this day
outnumber the grains of sand
that will blow in our eyes if we don’t decide
to love deeply all land.