The Growing Things

The First Avenue headline
punched me in the eye.
We're Colder than Siberia!
Terrific.
Basic black will be in
this season
for the death
of summer.
It suits me
but I worry
about the
huddled basil
the reaching tomato starts
and
the crawling squash
trying to be
in the garden-bed
front yard.
The angry sky
and refrigerated ground
sing in key
with my glass half empty
harmony
but the growing things
need long lighted days
and warm still mornings
that walk through late May
through the door into June.
Don't die, little ones.
Nothing here is promised
but every day
I watch you
and keep safe
my dying thread
of hope
locked in
the veins
of your leaves.