Weeding

In the summer her excuse is the heat.

In the fall I lose track of her alibis amidst

The leaves and dead weeds

But somehow she has time to take walks with me at the Green,

And then pumpkins and tomatillos are ready for her,

And she comes with her delicate hands and plucks them

proud and smiling.

Look what I’ve done.

“Look at the orange shades on this one.”

“Look how big she is!”

“Taste this tomatillo sauce and tell me what you think.”

And after the peppers dry up on the stalk

The house is littered with withered

Anchos, cayennes, sweet peppers

That we all forget to use till they’ve grown mold.

In winter it’s because the snow is

On the ground

Or the ground is frozen hard or

It is her only day off in the week. And this is the season when she doesn’t need excuses.

Then spring is planting

And measuring and hoeing time

And not a time for that.

Every once in a while she says she wants to get out there with

Her gloves and a spade and take care of it.

I agree with her – now is a good time –

Then we go for a walk

Because the sun is out

And we

can walk together past the benches and the trees, hearing the crunch of

Our sneakers on the gravel.

the sun is out but not so high anymore

the wind pushes the unculled yellowed stalks back and forth,

we

can hold hands and watch the little kids whiz by on their bikes, their parents

softly somewhere behind them,

and so we do.