I didn’t have the heart
to kill them outright,
or leave them to die
in their four inch pots,
though my neighbor said
they were too stunted
to be worth the effort

So I took them out
(feeling  vaguely like some servant
in a fairy tale, who doesn’t want to kill the child as ordered)
I dug a place in last year’s garden,
wholly overtaken by thistle, sorrel, blackberries and grasses,
robust and deeply rooted,
eagerly becoming meadow

I plonked in the tomatoes,
wrested last years cages from the weeds
to keep myself from stepping on them
(and in case they find a way to grow)
Sorry, little plants. Good luck.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 14, 2021