The gardener removes selected growth
to clear a path or sensibly enhance
a section of my yard. So I with both
intent and memory address the plants
that grow upon the acres in my mind.
These berries are too thorny for their taste;
those limbs that early pleased are intertwined
and overgrown; fertility’s defaced.

I’ve learned to tidy house, and to review
accumulations; now I can discard
old magazines, collected rocks, a slough
of keys that nothing fit. That isn’t hard,
but I’m unconfident at gardening,
and have to learn to cut a growing thing.