My father asked me why I treated myself like a loser.
In my obligatory silence I mused that I was much
worse. I was Bertha. Or so I seemed.
My mother asked me to be more patient;
so I began planting seeds in rented soil.
But each time I didn’t have the strength
to hope, I was cruel to budding life,
water became more vital to me than
Gracie, the tomato plant,
Samuel, the eggplant,
Patience, the pepper plant.
Gracie really needed independence, freedom
and sunlight in honesty. I locked her inside all day.
Samuel, I was a wicked bitch to. I killed him after I
began to hate my surroundings.
But Patience, I planted her twice.
Forgot to water her for two days.
But I am not giving up on her.
She sprung up and stretched towards me
a little every day.
So now when I see her longest bud
lying limp in the earth,
I still give her water and a break.
She’s not a loser or a crazy brute.
She’s a good girl who needs loveand devotion. Like her gardener.