This is what you plant
when you wake up after
too many nightmares
of former lovers
still conniving and deceitful,
of current friends lost
due to lies about a fence
in a neighborhood that once
had a victory garden
in every backyard.
First, I marked the boundaries
with concrete planters
filled with pansies,
mostly yellow and deep red.
The kitchen window boxes are rotting
and filled with tiny ants
but my husband built them
so they will be filled
with blue lobelia and
the sturdiness of red geraniums
for one more summer.
Red clay containers of herbs:
chives, basil, thyme and parsley
sit beside more clay pots of
dill and mustard seeds, all within
the confines of an old garden fence
held together by crabbing twine,
shards of old glass and wire mesh
below the dirt and worms to ward off
the persistence of groundhogs.
Red potatoes and yams have emerged,
protected by scatterings of
marigolds from jessicapierce.
Where once we had two ducks,
I planted Russian Sunflowers,
beets, leaf lettuce, and bell peppers
with one tomato plant,
for my husband who pulled out all
the weeds, Bay Ridge mint, and
lemon balm, because I asked.
When I say vengeance, I mean
I woke up wanting to kill whoever
was chainsawing at 7am on a Saturday;
When I say vengeance, I mean
I generally garden in silence
but my anger at what was going on
twenty feet away, over the fence
forced me to plug in an old radio,
cranked up to the worst FM station
to drown out the cursing and fighting.
Taking a break, I asked my husband to sit
outside while I worked.
In New Jersey, there's a small window
between too much rain, not enough rain,
and the onslaught of mosquitoes.
Determined to get this done
with a clear blue sky and no humidity,
the music they played tugged at my heart
as I tugged at ragweed, planting
the last of the seeds,
which I hope grow and flourish,
if only for a small victory.
As I watered everything, I danced,
not caring who was around
because it was a song worth dancing to
and it made my husband laugh.
If you were me, perhaps you would not
have danced, but some times
victory feels better than vengeance.
He, as if we both worked hard in the sun,
went inside to sleep, and perhaps
it was enough for today.