Up

they come in four days,
among the first sprouters,
quickly outgrow
a clear plastic greenhouse,
send out lacy leaves. Clumsy
fingers transplant them into
peat pots. They

topple! Damping off. Those
that remain can't take sun,
can't stay in the basement—
one by one I toss seedlings
into the trash.
No fluted blossoms
this summer.

Spring knocks
at the window—

I don't know how to tell her.