Backyard Greenhouse

A poem.

Backyard Greenhouse
I go to the greenhouse
to get rid of the blues.
Loamy earth smell inside
and warmth steamy as a sauna
even though there's frost
on the clothesline.

Tomatoes, peppers, basil
wiggle up from seed pots.
One ladybug crisscrosses
the fogged glass door.
Christine Vovakes

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