I
In the Morning
Lauren Kukla
I wake early
to watch the bees flit between
sunshine-yellow squash blossoms and
wilting echinacea
in a garden half-watered.
Weeds unpicked whisper and hiss.
I wait for them to admonish me.
Call my failure by its name.
But they are kind.
They tell me:
Why are you trying to be what you are not?
Be perfect or be good.
You cannot be both.