right after a sudden warm spell,
too early for a proper crop of greens
picked daily. Pick those last leaves
after the plant has gone to seed
and you’ll find them bitter, tough—
a natural outcome of plant genetics
that tells it to put all its energy
into making seed for the next
generation. Even spinach and rapini
will hold more than their rightful share
of bitter, no longer edible, your
effort and expense for nought.
How could you know in advance?
Could you have planned ahead,
harvested before the warm spell, kept
your garden cool? Surely there’s
a way for a kitchen garden to grow
everything you need when you
need it. As if you could control
the weather and the plants’
genetic instructions. As if you
weren’t bitter after bolting.

Joan Mazza worked as a microbiologist and psychotherapist, and taught workshops on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam). Her poetry has appeared in Atlanta Review, The Comstock Review, Potomac Review, Prairie Schooner, Slant, Poet Lore, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.