What Stayed

First warm day.

I went out back without a coat

and stood at the edge of the raised bed.

April was a long time ago.

I planted things in April—

tomatoes, I think, and basil,

something I read was easy.

Stopped checking on it around June.

What's there now:

dead stems, matted weeds,

the skeleton of something

I probably killed by not looking.

And one plant in the middle.

Green. Standing straight.

Something I didn't put there.

A weed, probably.

It's thriving.

It looks completely unbothered

by everything around it that's dead.

I stood there in the first warmth of the year

looking at the one thing

I couldn't take credit for

and couldn't kill.

I went back inside.

Made tea. Left it.