
And so,
Because he could help but do little else
He reached
He reached
‘Well of course we had to get rid of it,’ he said
‘We can’t have hornets in the stone retaining wall’
And so, that night the spray soaked the stones and daylilies
Fed the legs of wasp and the roots of yarrow
His hand worked the mallet, pounded the post which read:
“Monarch Way Station” and “Backyard Sanctuary” (certified)
A scowl for the ReelGreenⓇ sod next door
But compost for the flowering hawthorn, aster, and bergamot
‘It’s a complete transformation
A new way of thinking, our connection to it all
The world and us, we and the world
‘Of course, it’s a lot of work . . . making it like it was, building it back . . .
But in the end, you know, it will be worth it.’
We Jazzed June
He stood on the worn staircase looking down
His feet shifted but remained on the second step
Below, the crumbling rocks of the Michigan basement
A damp dirt floor; below
Somewhere, a partially-collapsed coal bin
Somewhere, relics from previous lifetimes
A forgotten coffee can of nails
A mouldering algebra book
A daughter’s wilted macrame
His feet shifted.
Somewhere, a silverfish scrambled from the light above
hidden perhaps in the shadow of his profile
Somewhere, a rodent shrank into a corner
Somewhere, a woodlouse fed slowly upon support beams
His tread marked the damp-coated step
Somewhere his feet were drawn downwards and rooted
Somewhere, his face met a phantom web
Somewhere, lungs inhaled it all
And so, his hand on the spongy post of beech
Somewhen, Her hand on the brush that once painted it brown
His gloves tying a rope for the dog
His small pen knife carving the names of fairy tales
Her tiny arms wrapped around the pole while she cried
Their hands slipping past as they sought a private place
Her family’s chest of drawers leaning against it
The rolling stone that left the chip and dent
His friends’ braced palms jacking it into place
His idea and shovel
The root which once charmed his feet
“…It was found that many chickens, raised in quarantine, will not leave their shelter even when a coop door is left open. . . “
They had imagined the sunroom addition for years, but could not finance it
Until now, of course
With the inheritance
Restful, open, full of light
A place for coffee, a book, even biscuits
A refuge, he imagined. A harbor. A sanctuary.
He decorated it with exotic plants
Posted videos online
Doordash would visit, an Amazon drone
He laughed at the rain upon the tempered UV windows
And so, at night, over wine, under the glass-streaked stars
A possum would wander past
Peer into the fold
Last year’s flowers, the hardier for their trials
Meet the new buds with disregard
Do not report what they do not see
Blight in August
Curdling the leaves of snakeroot and aster
Starching his favored tea rose
He found it there weeding
His knees against the earth
Secured by a garden cushion
He moaned there by its roots
Made his vows to its thorns
Bargained as ever with the night-time silence
But then, a canker on the bee balm –
And so, the copper fungicide to save them
The baking soda and prayer
That evening,
The whine, the call of a sickened animal
An unbecoming disruption to the still air
It meant nothing at all.
And so,
He fell at last upon the claying soil,
–Months of care washed away in the downpour–
Squeezed its spongy flesh with calloused fingers
If the neighbors peered from their cool bay windows, he would not know.
Phlox and willow, vervain and balm, vanished
A rubber soaker hose lay uselessly
“Always next year,” she had said to him
Some time this morning
Some time ago
To plow it all over, to rip it out
To expunge the oath, the sacrifice, the act
. . . He cursed his denial, the idealism and impotence
A Lawn-Boy across the street belched on sod
The Ortho Man parked his truck down the block
Here the orange “Tall Weeds and Grass” citation still decorated his door
That evening, that autumn, that generation,
He let the dried plants lie,
He turned the clay with mulch
Brought the survivors in to shelter winter
Buried bulbs deep in November mud …
Lifted a quiet finger at his world
Penciled a planting map on her stationery
Dreamed of wasp and monarch
Left the muck beneath his nails
Awaited the next calamity
Made his vows against the gods
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