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May 11, 2018

‘Poor Growing Season’, by Miranda Cichy

 

 

  • by Miranda Cichy

 

The year I grew tomatoes 
I had no understanding 
that my body was failing, 
how the plants needed 
more earth than I could give them,
out in the yard
on a concrete bed, 
hunkered in pots 
the size of my skull. I 
fed them too early, I
forgot to pierce
the container holes
and June drowned them.
You can try too hard
to care for something,
and I watched through 
the dusty window
as the summer shifted,
as my body took 
a spade to itself, dug 
and re-dug, broke 
roots until the soil was raw. 
Good days unfurl 
in bad years
like yellow flowers, sometimes 
the fruit does set. But
the tomatoes I picked
were swollen, their faces
multiplied, the seeds like grit,
stems bending from the sticks 
that were meant to hold them up.

  • by Miranda Cichy

United Kingdom