what now

it's the first year that my
father
doesn't have a garden.
no tomatoes, or peppers.
no corn, or lettuce
growing in the small patch
of dirt outside his window,
next to the air conditioner
unit.
I can't see he says,
to me. I don't know if
things are ripe. or if
they need water, or what.
it's all blurry.
we both stare out at the
squared patch of unturned
soil. the green wire fence
bent by rabbits,
who also wonder, what now.