Garden of Weeds, Basil, and Hope
By: Joy Ortiz
Four years of neglect
Made my garden surly.
She refused to lie barren,
Instead covering herself
With a blanket of crabgrass.
If I wouldn't plant her,
Then she would plant herself
With whatever came to hand.
I found her almost unrecognizable.
Where once grew tomato plants
As high as my waist,
There remained only a skinny volunteer or two,
Fruitless and small.
Her neat rows of black plastic
Had succumbed to the weeds they once fought,
Defeated at last, and
Buried beneath tangled lawn.
We mowed over her for four years.
I had mostly forgotten.
Still there lived
A memory
Of what she had once been,
Of what she could be again
If only I would remember her.
Autumn came, and I stumbled across
A gardener.
He was my neighbor.
We had a long talk
About seeds and straw,
Beans and beets,
Soil and cilantro.
I remembered my garden,
Her beauty and bounty,
And I yearned to restore her.
My neighbor volunteered to turn over the soil
So I could bring her back to life.
My heart swelled with joy
As I watched him walk back and forth,
Back and forth,
Tilling the earth for my garden.
All winter she slept
As my belly grew with my second child.
My four-year-old daughter and I
Picked out seeds
To plant in our garden.
We looked forward to spring,
To soil, sun, and
A new little sister.
All three came at last, but
I did not plant my garden.
My neighbor tilled the soil again, but
I had forgotten about
The fifty-pound Sulcata,
Digger of holes,
Pacing sentinel,
Devourer of plants, and
Certain death to anything green and unguarded.
The yard was his summer home;
My garden had no fence.
Alas! The tortoise must be kept out
If the garden was to have a chance
At rebirth,
So I did not plant.
The fence became a hurdle.
Whenever I looked at my garden,
I saw the fertile, black dirt
Waiting,
Yet I did not build a fence.
In May I birthed my second daughter.
As each golden day passed,
Spring gave way to summer.
My garden grew weary
Of waiting for me.
She began to knit herself a new shawl
Of green crabgrass
To cover her nakedness.
Had I abandoned her
Again?
I had the best intentions,
Yet days and weeks
Slipped silently by me
As I nursed my new baby,
Mothered the four-year-old,
And holed up in my house.
One day in July,
I could stand it no longer.
"I have to build that fence!"
I didn't have much of a plan
As I marched into the yard.
I only knew
That it must be tortoise-proof.
I gazed around for inspiration.
My eyes landed on a rusty scrap pile,
A stack of garden shed pieces
That had never become
Anything of worth.
I strode over to it
And began pulling it apart.
Out of those repurposed parts
I built my fence.
My husband and his brother helped
Dig holes, plant oddly-shaped posts,
Drill through sheet-metal,
And fasten it all together
With plastic zip ties.
When we finished the fence,
It was a zig-zag Frankenstein,
A crooked, rusty, ugly metal wall
That cut my yard in two.
My neighbor the gardener
Rewarded our efforts
By re-tilling the soil
To give me a second chance.
I covered my garden's face
With pink yarn lines
To mark her rows.
I planted her with marigolds,
Beets, broccoli,
Tomatoes, squash,
And basil.
Then, I left her.
I had built a fence to protect her, yet
Something was still missing
In me.
I planted her with hope, yet
I retreated into the house,
Neglecting to water her.
No black plastic or straw
Warded off the invading weeds.
They crept in between the rows,
Crisscrossing the smooth, black earth.
Rows of baby beets sprang up,
Then withered,
Dying of thirst beneath the sun.
My tomato plant languished.
Everything was stunted and small
Except for my one success,
If you can call it that:
A pot of basil
Split into four plants.
They alone flourished
In my thirsty, choking,
Lonely garden.
I would visit frequently
To cut spicy leaves from their stems,
Taking what I wanted, and
Giving nothing in return.
I used her.
I gave my garden life, then
Starved and neglected her.
Still, she gave me gifts
Every time I bothered to visit.
Did she value
Such an existence?
Did she remember
Her days of splendor,
When I had cared
And given her much?
Did she recall
How I had watered each plant,
Counting the seconds
Before moving on to the next
Just to make sure that none missed out?
Did she sigh and shake her head
When I would hop the fence
And cut her basil
Like a thief
Instead of a gardener?
And what am I?
And what do I want to be?
Yet I'm not ready to give her up.
Though I starve her and leave her,
I love her
More than an idea,
More than admiration of someone else's garden.
Though I neglect her,
I remember her glory days
And long to return,
To bring my daughters
And care for her again.
I long to be
With her.
Together.
She is hope.
She is life.
I will buy more seeds for spring
And if she takes me back,
I will stay.
