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.