I arrange a tray
and take it into the garden,
where Marla and I sit in our coats
nibbling on buns and sipping lemonade.
It’s a weedy mess out here, she says.
Mammy’s usually so good at keeping up with the garden.
Let’s tidy it, I suggest.
Marla lifts a glass to her lips.
We can plant anything we want.
Let’s get some sunflower seeds!
Or we could grow vegetables.
How about cabbage?
Dad would disapprove.
He’d think it was
bullshit
to grow your own food.
Yes. Let’s try cabbage, I say.