Gone are the immaculate
hibiscus, bottle brush, the tender
Japanese sweet flag
with its narrow, arching yellow leaves.
Gone is the green I spent
an entire Sunday planting, grooming,
coloring up the desert of my yard.
Stems dark the color of dried blood,
leafless now, in the tune of dying,
I empty each planter into the garbage pail.
Set the empties on the hard ground
where they can look at one another and weep.
If you've any comment on this poem, Lisa Zaran would be pleased to hear from you.