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.