Dandelion by Maria Sibylla Merian
A discussion of weeds, taking place in the garden:
It’s a weed. Pluck it
But to me
It’s salad greens
Packed with minerals, nutrition
It’s a weed. Pull it out.
If we’re patient, you’ll see
It’s a wildflower, bright pink, free
from conformation
It’s a weed. Hoe it down.
Now it’s clear
I see
That we see
Life differently
as a river flowing to sea
you know the depths of me
and I yours
at times collisional
others, provisional
we merge
forging a path through abyss
and bioluminescence
accreting new meaning, with intent
like the waters of the world
evolving
together
natural reactions
these sensations that I feel
when you walk into a room
is it
biology
psychology
chemistry
or simply
my soul recognizing her groom?
As the sun paints the mountains pink
And throws red streaks ‘cross evening sky
In bare feet, showered, hair still wet,
I enter our kitchen garden
Clip chives for potatoes, basil for caprese
Strawberries, figs straight out of hand
Beyond tall saguaro, within these walls and gates
I feel a certain comfort on this land
Back into the kitchen, wine is opened, herbs then chopped
Tomatoes and potatoes prepped just so
I await the phone call telling me you’re on your way
It is in these moments that I know
Contentment
some folks say
a tree won’t miss
fall leaves
what
I ask
do they know?
did they pull energy to trunk and soul
from soil
feeding that which bursts forth
greens
then grows?
do they hold tight
to foliage bright
through frolicking spring
and summer sun’s sting?
uphold
when nights turn cold?
Doubt it.
If so,
folks would know
those trees
miss those leaves.
