Soapbox

Abide With Me

I plant perennials
because I believe in committed relationships.
Not for me the instant, disposable garden,
seasonal affiliation,
no “Hey, I’ll call you in April”
when we both know it won’t happen.
There are no casual hook-ups in my beds.

I plant perennials
both deliberately and by chance.
Hitch hikers and strays jostle for sunlight alongside my carefully chosen loved-ones.
Some fill my summer with beauty and winters with promise;
others are really more trouble than they are worth,
problem children who will not stay where they are planted.
But still I plant perennials,
because I hate to say goodbye
even to the ones who push boundaries.
Neighbors suggest I just yank them out-
“they’re really just weeds” they say.
But I pause, trowel in hand,
I see the tiny pink blossoms opening bravely
among the ragged, straggling green.
Some days I convince myself that, with a little love
they will come to bloom more brightly,
other days I just feel so damn weedy myself
that I am unwilling to judge them.

I plant perennials
because I believe in second chances.
It’s not an easy way to live.
Nearly every year I find myself on my hands and knees
in an August garden suddenly gone wild
trying to bring order to chaos and get the kids to play nice
and I hear myself vow that next year
I am gonna dig the whole ungrateful lot up
and buy a few damn flats of petunias and be done with it.

But I plant perennials
because I believe in lifetime friendships.
I know they usually don’t last.
So many beautiful faces are already missing from my garden
but I don’t like to let go
always hope that even the long-lost lambs will return next spring
and I plan to be here, waiting to welcome them home.

I plant perennials
because I believe in happily ever after.
20 years ago I took 5 dollars that Grandmother gave me for my birthday
and bought a little rambling rose.
It was on clearance, past its prime, already exhausted
 but I took a chance.
After a few years, my grandmother died, and then so did the rose.
Years later, while thinning the soapwort that had moved in
I saw a thorny tendril pushing up towards the sun.
It offers just a few crimson memories each June
before retreating back to the earth by September.
But every autumn I sing while I feed and mulch
that empty corner of the garden.

I plant perennials
because I believe in the promise of spring