Posts Tagged ‘bindweed’

All summer it’s been twisting and winding,

twining around sunflowers,

stretching across pathways,

climbing the pea vines and the tall wire fence.

If there is a fairy godmother of flowers,

she must have said to the bindweed,

“I bless you with tenacity.” And forever since,

it has lived up to her generosity.

Why do I curse it for its persistence,

when I, myself, have made a life out of stubbornness?

Oh foolish woman who longs for beauty,

but pulls the bindweed before it is beautiful,

before its pale pink flowers open to morning

delicate as certainty.

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just ask the bindweed—

the more someone tries to destroy it

the more vigorously it grows

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It was here first,
the bindweed.
Before you even

paved the drive
it had sent roots
down sixteen feet—

not a defense mechanism,
just survival.
It had put out

those delicate
pink flowers, too,
trumpeting each morning,

long before you,
blooming not to be beautiful,
but just because

blooming is what bindweed do.
So when you
wake one morning

and see how its leaves
have pushed up
green arrowheads

through the asphalt,
bumping up what is flat,
the asphalt now cracked,

you could choose
to curse it and
you could choose to say

what barriers
will I push through

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