Beautiful Ruins

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Beautiful Ruins
Ash Kilback 
My first summer as a gardener
I was an accomplice in a silent crime.
At first, I was oblivious to the omen
of the scarlet beetle. Fooled by their red flare
of seduction. I let them carry on their hours
of sun-drunk lovemaking until weeks later
when the leaves were sticky with thick globs
of larvae, I realized what was about to happen.
In a panic, I Googled How to Save Your Lilies,
shook their bodies off the stems into a salt-filled
Greek yogurt container to suffocate them. I considered
spreading Diatomaceous Earth in the dirt like a curse
but left for vacation and never bothered to finish the job.
I returned home to find a few lilies still alive, but their bodies
scorched, leaves covered in teeth marks. In a fit
of devastation, I tore the lilies from the dirt, white bulbs
still in tact, and tossed them in the compost, hiding
the evidence. I guess I can say, the dirt is still
on my hands. I'm guilty of holding the ruins
of something beautiful I could have saved.