Detail from a work in progress - Oil on Paper - 2012
Disturbed earth: some plants sprout quickly in it.
Sow thistles come to mind.
After you've wrenched them out
they'll snake back underground
and thrust their fleshy prickled snouts in
where you'd intended hostas.
Hawkweed will do that. Purslane. Purple vetch.
Marginals, hugging ditches,
flagrant with seed,
strewing their paupers' bouquets.
Why is it you reject them,
them and their tangled harmonies
and raffish madrigals?
Because they thwart your will.
I feel the same about them:
I hack and dig,
I stomp their pods and stems,
I slash and crush them. Still,
suppose I make a comeback -
a transmutation, say -
once I've been spaded under?
Some quirky growth or ambush?
Don't search the perennial border:
look for me in disturbed earth.
from The Door
This week's editor on the Tuesday Poem hub is Seattle-based poet Therese Clear
with March 6, 1890: Eugene Schieffelin Releases 80 Starlings in Central Park
by Holly J. Hughes
Please click on the quill.