Poems

Garden clean-up…

We narrowly missed a frost a few times lately, here in northern NH. Thirty four degrees is pretty compelling; what’s left in the garden will likely not make it, no matter how often we drape old shower curtains and table cloths over the tomato cages. Yet, there’s a tiny glimmer of hope, right? Soon, I will have to turn to the melancholy task of pulling up plants that suffered drought all summer, and, given the recent pattern of rain, are starting to blossom willingly. It feels like betrayal.

In her poem “September Tomatoes,” Karina Borowicz writes,

“It feels cruel. Something in me isn’t ready

to let go of summer so easily. To destroy

what I’ve carefully cultivated all these months.”

That’s it, exactly. I don’t want to rip up vines and uproot plants. The carrots will continue to dwell a few more weeks; the frost sweetens them anyhow. But O, my tomatoes. And the brave zucchini plants. They bloom on and on, but there’s no rational hope left for fruit now.

We picked the apples and most of the pears. My roses are blooming again. It’s an emotional season; we have to put away the deck furniture, but there are still warm afternoons, precious few, but they will draw me outside, regardless.

Keep well,

CMG

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