Freeing the Weeds – Poem

Freeing the Weeds

Every Saturday
I hold the garden back,
hack away
at branching leaves,
trim the fat
from trees in my denial
of their girth,
tug out weeds
that push
to light
between the cracks
like plucking eyebrows,
tweezing sly hairs
from the forehead,
wanting each week
to give in,
let stray blades meet
in the middle
and the dark bristles
grow like moss that hangs
from backyard branches,
swinging free
in breezes,
and untamable.

For One Single Impression’s prompt, Weed.

16 thoughts on “Freeing the Weeds – Poem

  1. Way off base–reminds me of what I imagine Milton’s Adam and Eve thinking while they tended the garden. Can’t we just let it grow untamed? Please?

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