Instead of planting the deceased in the soil,
I freed them from it.
I tugged frost-wasted bodies of tomato and bean plants free.
I was amazed, as I always am amazed,
At how such small roots can support those great gangly things,
Those sprawling wonders that yielded so much fruit.
I cut the vines, the stems away from their cages and poles.
I wrestled the bodies free of these now useless supports.
Then I laid the broken bodies together in their mass grave,
The compost pile so large now, I’m not sure how my husband will turn it.
Ashes and ashes, and dust to dust,
Plant to soil and plant again.
There will be no resurrection for my tomatoes in the spring.
Just a new generation, that like every generation,
Owes its existence to the generations that have passed before.