Undone

the first sunny day in a week

(even here in this city of clouds and winds

it also rises)

and I stand embarrassed by my own intrusion

the garden caught in the act

of letting its hair down

(look what one week of rain can do)

hail the mighty nettles

the European ginseng I have heard them called

almost a cure-it-all

a single dandelion

peers out of a gap between the stones

like a sun made for ants

some love the salad but no

too bitter

unlike the chickweed

now carpeted over all the beds

maybe if I stand

long enough

my helpless arms heavy with the weight of indecision

thoughts undone

[unfiltered unhinged]

chickweed will creep up my legs

cover my eyes so that I no longer see

the single spot of blue underneath

forget-me-not

makes me wonder what such minikin flowers can know about memory

personally

I always preferred bluebells

and still remember

the first time I saw them

a clearing in the middle of the forest

near where we lived

the meadowy whiff

on a sunny day in the summer

(not exactly like today)

[that sun was brighter stronger continental climate no smell of the sea however old or young you were]

when I leaned down and they took my breath away

perfectly delicate

the sky shade of blue

shake shake

[because bells should toll, right?]

(can the ants hear)

the rustling on the verge of hearing

sh-sh sh-sh sh-shshsh

shall we go said grandma it’s getting late

and helped me pick a bouquet tiny like my palms

grandma

my first encyclopaedia

of flowers

herbs

and other living creatures

everything wants to live

she would say when my nimble fingers

kept reaching for flowers stalks branches snails ants

actually

this is why I will never be

a good gardener

maintaining a garden requires the mastery

of life and death

[that filter I lack]

weeding causes pain

to the weeds

and I cannot choose

who should live

and who deserves no place

in the flowerbed

grandma with her rescue cats

nearly frozen birds found in the snow

one stray girl

(they always lived in the end

even the foundling budgie who remained

when she left forever)

her patch of strawberries

[smelling of sunlight and juice

tasting of heaven]

was always free of weeds

how did she do it

I wonder

looking at the unkempt beds as

my heart aches