September Tomatoes By Karina Borowicz

[conuly]

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56583/september-tomatoes

The whiskey stink of rot has settled
in the garden, and a burst of fruit flies rises
when I touch the dying tomato plants.

Still, the claws of tiny yellow blossoms
flail in the air as I pull the vines up by the roots
and toss them in the compost.

It feels cruel. Something in me isn’t ready
to let go of summer so easily. To destroy
what I’ve carefully cultivated all these months.
Those pale flowers might still have time to fruit.

My great-grandmother sang with the girls of her village
as they pulled the flax. Songs so old
and so tied to the season that the very sound
seemed to turn the weather.

Comments

[dragonyphoenix]

Ooh, I like this.

[wpadmirer]

That is a beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing.

[adafrog]

Good.

[robby]

It does seem a little cruel to pull out the garden, but I save seeds every year and grow it again.

[smokingboot]

That's a beauty. Thank you for sharing it.

[hudebnik]

Lovely!

Our raspberries are near the end of their productivity for this year, but they're perennials, so I just clip off the obviously-dead canes and leave the rest over the winter. Our pole beans are near the end of their productivity too, but I saw a few flowers yesterday, and don't have any particular motivation to rip them out yet.