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Green Thumb, Black Heart ​by Lynne Sargent

Green Thumb, Black Heart
by Lynne Sargent

Published September 16, 2022

My mother might as well be Demeter:

green thumbs, garden blooming 

lavender and mint

all Canadian-winter round.


She gives me dirt,

Miracle-Gro, rules

and still I can only preserve

those things that are made for drought

like I am death after her life

not Persephone,

but Hades himself.


My grandfather grows bonsais

lovingly trimmed and cared for.

He gave me a miniature pomegranate

for my sixteenth birthday;

it died 

before I could ever

transgress and eat it.


Some days it feels like I am buried

too deep under rocks to sprout myself,

let alone coax anything else

into life


like I can only be the afterlife,

hands too weak to keep out winter,

let alone dig in the frozen ground,

like I am too hungry 

to possibly wait for fruit to grow.

Lynne Sargent.jpg

Lynne Sargent

Lynne Sargent is a writer, aerialist, and holds a Ph.D in Applied Philosophy. They are the poetry editor at Utopia Science Fiction magazine. Their work has been nominated for Rhysling, Elgin, and Aurora Awards, and has appeared in venues such as Augur Magazine, Strange Horizons, and Daily Science Fiction. Their first collection, A Refuge of Tales is out now from Renaissance Press. To find out more, reach out to them on Twitter @SamLynneS or for a complete bibliography visit them at

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