On the Cusp of Equinox by Joan Mazza

On the Cusp of Equinox

Summer ends with a chill over the garden,
breath of coolness to make the spinach
and lettuce happy. I pick another bucket
of tomatoes, more chewed each harvest,
and welcome the wildlife to this messy table

of green beans and ragged rapini.
For this season, I’m all canned out. Done
with boiling jars in a steamy kitchen,
done with tomatoes bubbling, and washing
seeds from the food mill. I’m giving away

the rest of the squash and tomatoes.
Go ahead, call me wasteful, Ma.
You can say I’m crazy. Again. This time
I mean it when I shake my head. I can’t eat
another tomato. The freezer is loaded

with green beans and squash soup.
Let the deer and groundhogs feast.

*

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