Angry Weeds
Rooted deep
within my heart’s garden,
entwined
with their host,
they took up residence
god knows when
and have no plans to leave
Unwelcome houseguests!
I want them gone!
Thyme is wasting!
Thick gloves won’t do
nor a trusty spade
This requires bare hands
to feel and follow the stalk,
down, down
into the earth,
fingertips pushing past boundaries
of soil, reaching through
darkness into
forgotten territory,
to grasp the roots
buried deep.
I tug. Resolute, comfy,
they do not want to leave.
I am firm: I know
you are a fine plant,
I say,
just misplaced.
Out you go.
If enough tears have fallen
to soften earthen walls;
if I believe their worth
and tell them
thank you,
your work is done
then out they come, one by one,
making room
among the thyme and sage,
rosemary and lovage
for more and more light