This time of year, I could spend all my time in the yard, pulling weeds from the buffalograss.
I admit, my native meadow isn’t viable. It requires more work than the rest of the yard combined.
the sap of salsify, hawkweed, thistle
marks my wrists
I feel burdened by things happening far away. My eighty-something father is piling up debt, and all I manage to do from here is worry while my brothers and sisters do all the work.
Pledges, taxes, loans, credit cards:
He’s generous, my sister says
In the garden at least, I can imagine progress by the end of the summer.