The Winter Garden

Is it unreasonable or a flaw
to ache long after what others say 
was a trifling matter, an oversight?

To feel too much under the skin
a wound that reopens with a careless
word or gesture? In the winter garden, 

hardy root crops grow alongside rosemary, 
thyme, and camellia. Pine, juniper, and 
winterberry wear snow like a light 

garment that doesn't choke them. How 
is it a flaw to be moved by the world, 
to be undone by what was felled 

or disfigured, torn from its bed? 
May we be tender through the frost 
that comes to kill everything,

the scrubbing after the stain that 
reddened the walls and toppled 
the chairs to the floor.