Gardener's Hope: Green Comfort

My garden doesn’t know I got divorced today. She sings, as she always does and will, in the key of hope.She’s a twittering fool of high notes in green and background notes of red. She spreads out, unchanged, unmoved by the earthquake I have just endured.

I hate her for it, for her still beauty. For her silence. I want her to know that thunder has rolled in and the clouds are clotting overhead. But she ignores me.

“Your life will go on,” she says flatly to me. I kick dirt in her face.
“How can it go on? I am broken. I am broke. I am alone,” I scream at her.
“You’ll flower again,” she promises. I pluck a fist full of cherry tomatoes from her arms and chuck them across the yard.
“You don’t know anything about this kind of destruction,” I scold her. You haven’t stood in the dull colored hallways sucked of their air and listened to lawyers politely dispute your future. You haven’t had to change your name. You haven’t lost anything. You are here all the time. You wake up here. You never have to move. You don’t run out of gas. Your checking account balance never sinks below sea level. You’re spoiled."
I detect a bit of wilting. I am glad I have hurt her.
She quietly confesses, “I die every year, remember? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t exist.”
“I know,” I say. But I don’t care.
“And I stay here because you are here. I would die if you left.” She bends a little farther down, a zucchini quietly falling to the ground.
“I am leaving. I have to. He took this house. I have no choice,” I sob to her. “Where will I go?”
She is silent.
“Take me with you. Take a seed, a flower, a root. Just don’t leave me behind. I couldn’t bear it.”
Peppers are thudding to the ground. A clematis has fallen by my boot.
“Don’t cry. Please, just don’t cry. We will think of something.” I crumple to the ground and run my fingers through her soil, clumping and releasing small wads of it.

I stay a long time, until my legs fell like cold steel pipes and my heart feels crunched and dry. I will myself to stand up.

I put a tomato in my pocket. "You are coming with me. We will both start over.

Gardener's Hope: Green Comfort


Joined November 2007

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