I grip at your base,
Twist and pull,
Displace
Your happy yellow blooms
(beloved of bees).
I rip out your roots,
Stuff you into a bag
Like so much trash.
Beneficial, nutritional, medicinal
Hated by humans
Because you can't be
Marked, marketed, bought or sold.
What will become of you
When even I,
(knowing your value)
Hide you like
A secret,
Just to avoid a fine?
I don't have the time
To collect, wash, dry, store
Everything you offer.
You are a survivor,
Thriving despite
Constant disruption.
No matter how much
I pull and tear
You'll still be there,
Poking through the cracks,
Your head turning fluffy white
To alight on the passing wind
Or the breath of a child
Who hasn't learned of your sin.
About the Creator
Bex Jordan
They/She. Writer. Gardener. Cat-Lover. Nerd. Always looking up at the sky or down at the ground.
Profile photo by Román Anaya.
Bluesky: @umasabirah.bsky.social
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