by Pamela L. Laskin

Going to grow a gorgeous garden
with wisteria blooming between begonias
and roses
ripe with longing.
I had the seeds,
the soil.
All was ripe
for blossoming.
even the way I measured
the distance between where the seeds
were planted.

How could I have known
the heat was venomous,
the waters were dying of thirst,
the sun snuck behind smog;

never did I dream
of the disasters of war
drought
a virus that ravaged so many lives;

this garden
was futile
destined to die
in parched soil
sorrowful soil
one that gave birth
to weeds in abundance.