Spring

When you pull out last year's weeds

You must be careful to untangle

All the dirt the helpful little

Intruder into the flower bed

Worked so hard to collect

And store or you are throwing away

Minerals and nutrients whatever

Invasive annuals are popular and

Catch your eye in the catalog

This year will need. Under a tree or out

In the yard these weeds would

Have a home and their roots

Be as helpful as a honey bee.

Its unfair that in a nice stone

Walled garden with soil carefully

Amended and lessened that

They are unwelcome. There

Is a brutality in gardening

They don't tell you about

When they say its better than

Medication. Weeds are just

Neglected flowers or ignored

Food we step on. Perhaps.

There isn't room for everything,

This isn't the compost pile

After all, all though hopefully they will

Refrain from growing there

As well. An bag forgot last year of the

Cheapest composted manure

hides in the shed but is caught

And travels around the yard

Diligently offering its now dry

And crumbly services. If we

Could make room. And we could make

Patience. Maybe.

The year we lost like an

Especially hard winter.

Cold.

Distant.

Monochrome.

Could bring forth

Into a impatient sun

After a gentle yet persistent

Rain something just nudging

A crumb of hard dirt out of

Its way. Rubbing last years

Coffee grounds and orange

Peels from its eyes, carefully

Dusted with red pepper to

Encourage the deer to mind

Their own business, a

little something. New. Yet

Having done its work

Underground to be strong.

Showing a long range

Vision that will be unavoidable

When it blooms.

Its hard work to see to it.

That what we forgot, on purpose,

Is remembered. Making room

Can be inelegant and there may

Be grass stains involved. A little

Dirt under the fingernails. But if we could...

Jubilee.