AUTUMN GARDEN

Becky Klein McCreary is a poet and gardener in the tiny town of Ouray, Colorado. Her poem expresses the sadness we feel when the garden disappears for the winter.

Autumn Garden

I am not ready
to put you away from chilling winds
into darkness
or slice into the stubby cuttings
for next year’s garden
or let trespassing deer
bite your tall, green crown
down to the brown soil
or stuff you into clay pots
that by mid-April
I have begun to dislike
Because you are too needy.
Lime green hostas
orphaned on our porch
grew plump this summer
in Box Elder’s shade
Thorny cactus, carefully cut
from ragged New Mexico ditches
lean out of terra-cotta pots.
Peppermint, lemon balm
chocolate mint, apple mint
garnished summer fruit bowls
and glasses of iced tea.
Oregano, thyme, and parsley
gathered into faded rag ribbons
drying for winter pasta dishes
cascading catnip, out of reach
sends kitty into a frenzy
while green-red hens and chicks
playfully tumble off the rocky roosts.
Feathery, copper fennel
waves in a wisp of wind
and daisies, coneflowers, yarrow
bow in their final performance.
I don’t want to put you away.