A Garden Wild

I weed my garden when it's wild

uproot

and pull

untangle

my hands are scratched with thorns and spikes

sweat lingers

I prevail

dirt settles in the creases even where I haven't been

sharp scent of all

I've felled

cutting through air I take in

hand stills on the trowel as I find a leaf I know

instead of claws and battles

one finger touches slow

the edge

soft and pliant

waxy in the sun

white fades in dots upon it

I remember this one

popping bursts of yellow red

small and sweet and plenty

big hands held mine

and showed me

to plant it

in springtime

I weed my garden when it's wild

and as I turn to go

the beds are neat and tidy

but for a wild one I'll let grow