Even as she was going blind, my mom, ever the poet, delighted in sitting out among the palms and birds, and enjoying and visualizing the scene, as I irrigated my date gardens in the Coachella Valley of California.
In her 1997 poem, “Colorado Water,” she wrote:
The palm said, “My clover is cool around my bole, over my hidden roots.
My fronds clatter, crash
like waves in the far off sea.”
I follow the tradition of thousands of years, of date palm growers diverting the waters of the Nile, the Tigris and Euphrates …