“The only difference between a flower and a weed is judgement.” Wayne Dyer
I have put pen to much that I ought not have
written, including, perhaps, these very words.
I have mistaken Ragweed for Goldenrod,
alleyways for gardens, watched them torn out,
make way for something better. I have asked
what better is, been taught the benefits of
a healthy tan, a good diet, three square meals
and an hour of exercise a day.
Once, a coyote chastised me for drinking espresso
before bedtime. All night I watched him watch me,
both of us tense, locked in stalemate, until dawn
sent us scurrying off, hungry and tired, for no dreams
came true that night. I have been party to dreams
deferred, and, occasionally, realized, have brought
wine and cheese to the celebration, have sipped and
snacked, alone, in the corner, then slinked home
without saying goodbye to my hosts, have wished
for more, for less, been satisfied with what I have,
have cursed the mirror, loved the mirror, cursed
and loved every being that has ever lived.
My Green Foxtail, my Deer Tongue, my Smooth Brome,
my Bull Thistle, my Slender Rush, my Spotted Knapweed,
What am I to do with this secret desire
for your sweet unwanted pollen?
