They’re doomed, of course,
these calendula seedlings
sprouting all across the garden.
Because it’s November.
Because even though
the fall was rainy enough
for water-swollen embryos
to crack open their seed coats,
even though there was time enough
for the primary roots to push down
and the embryonic stems to push up,
even though there was light enough
for the shoots to break through the soil,
for the first true leaves to open
and do their good green work
of turning sunlight into food,
still, the truth is they will freeze.
The truth is they will not have time
to bud and flower and go to seed.
As I stand above the dozens of seedlings,
shaking my head, I swear I hear them say,
No, honey, you are the one who is doomed
if you think the measure of a life
depends on how much one blooms,
doomed if you don’t believe that this, too,
is what we are here to do:
to break through the tight dry shell
that has kept you safe
and rise through the darkness into light.