Frost Warning

Frost warning.

Last night
I brought the tender plants in,
Standing on the porch,hefting terracotta pots
in a quick, chilly triage,
Rosemary,
for lamb roasts in winter,
Jasmine
for the hope of one more sweet scented profusion of white, 
And aloe.
for it's thick spikes, full of healing salve
on my careless cook's hands.

The impatiens
I left in the ground
rooted, immovable,
Too fragile to cover,
cheerful blooms fated to die
soon or late
no matter what.

The air was crisp
as I balanced pots
and opened the door
into warmth and shelter
and bid goodbye to
the gleaming blooms
across the way.

This morning, the impatiens
still bloomed,
succulent leaves, still green.
I gave a silent thank you
and apology
for the choice I had made,
and for the weeds,
looming on all sides.

We give the tender ones
more care when we can,
the hot house plant
the tomatoes even

Until they are too difficult
to protect or save.
or the return
is too small
given the effort of nurture.

Thyme, mint
and asters
will thrive without such help

The Brussels sprouts will
demand the cold,
frost touched green globes
on their stalks,
And some of the apples,
which in spring
sent forth tender blossoms
perilously close to the last frost,
will only ripen to sweetness
after they have felt
the sharp, crisp cold
on taut, blushing skins.

When is there a need?
When is it deserved?
when is it unwanted?

I am glad that I
am only a minor goddess
of a porch garden,
and a small patch
of neglected flowers.

Such decisions on a larger scale,
a family garden, even
let alone a child,
or planet,
would leave me
standing on the porch
in the cold,
weighing the aloe pot in my hand.