April 4, 2021
This is my garden
And I choose who lives who dies
Perhaps if I had space
I could accommodate more
But this is a tiny yard
And the survival of daylillies
Means no climbing clementis
Beside my porch seat
So out it goes
Everything coming back
After its long pause
Later than usual this year
But nothing was usual this year
A cacophony of hope and green
Not all will be gently nurtured
From winter seed in the laundry room
Under a scorching light
To flourishing in autumn glow
Some are summarily
Yanked for compost
Or placed in bags
To be given away
As I have been given
The overflow of other gardens
I know too well
Not deciding
Is a choice to allow morning glories
To overtake everything
To let mountain mint crowd space
Intended for poblano peppers
So to be a bit ruthless
Is to be honest with need
What is required of a summer garden
Armfuls of echinacea
Juice of that first perfect tomato
Dripping down the chin
Are worth the price, yet
Time and the season will tell
There is no promise
That all choices will be wise
But this is my garden
And I decide
Feature image courtesy of Rachel Loughlin.
