Posts Tagged ‘weed’



Pulling ten thousand

yellow-petalled weeds—

how many more millions

left to pull? How soon

will they be back?

Still, marveling

for a moment

at this small bit of

weedless dirt.

In me, how many

thousands of weeds?

And beneath them,

how many gardens

just waiting to be revealed?



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How could I know

it’d be a weed

that would save me—


one which I’ve

spent hours on my knees

trying to eradicate—


didn’t know that

on a day when

I needed to believe in spring,


it would appear in the quack grass,

its tiny purple flowers

calling to me


as if I were not the woman

who had uprooted them,

calling to me


as if I too

have some spring

left in me.


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Perhaps Your Hand

Fear is just another weed

with a tap root

and thorns

and a thousand seeds

still viable years

long after the stems

have been pulled

or mowed

or left for dead

and love is just another hand

that knows they’ll return

and still pulls the weeds

again, again, again.

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Pulling tall grass

from amidst the peonies

it’s hard not to admire

the tenaciousness

of grass, admire it

as I rip it out, every

last blade.

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Spring comes to the sidewalk
in the longer days of March.

The sun warms the slab, and beneath
it the seeds of old weeds start to stir.

They are tiny. And who knows how,
but in the dark, they begin to grow

and put down roots and,
though it seems unlikely,

begin to push through the concrete itself.
First a hairline crack. This fissure is somehow

sufficient to provide light and water enough.
Soon there are tendrils, then whole leaves,

then the yellow blooms of new weeds.
What is it in us that knows to push?

I, too, have wintered in a dark, thick cast, one
of my own making. Cramped and dormant,

I had stopped believing in hope.
But it was not hope that cracked the shell.

Nor was it anything that I did.
It was life’s longing for itself.

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angel trumpet haiku

amdist the weeds
waist-high datura
one scrap of bliss

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