It’s an age-old question – are we here as part of a cosmic or divine plan, or did all of what we call life and existence happen by accident? Or as Catherine Esposito Prescott asks in the title poem of her new collection, “Did we plant a butterfly garden or did monarchs stumble on / the heirloom tomatoes that needed pollen to transfer from pistol to stamen?”
Perhaps because, as she writes, she was “raised in a religion with many answers,” Prescott doesn’t come to a conclusive answer to the question. But she explores it in a wide array of ways in the 42 poems of Accidental Garden.
The title itself suggests the question. A garden, any garden, is planned; otherwise, it would be wildness. “Garden” suggests design and stewardship. But can such a creation happen by accident?
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.
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