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,
fragrant
and untamable.
For One Single Impression’s prompt, Weed.
mareymercy. 
I’m impressed with the quality of your poem … not to mention your industriousness. 🙂
My industriousness is totally made up for the poem, trust me!
excellent! love the presentation here too.
Good one.. and well written too… many in India with six day week do these chores on a Sunday..
I believe it – I rarely succeed in completing such chores and I’m not even working right now!
Great poem! I love the metaphor-so apt! I can’t keep up with either!
Thanks – neither can I!
This had a very magic scent to it… Loved the comparison to eyebrows!
Thank you!
Hi Marey ~~ I love your choices, kill the weeds or let them grow wild.
I know how the vegies would vote on that choice. 🙂
..
Thanks! I think I know, too 🙂
Wonderful way to talk about gardening; removing or leaving those weeds.
Thanks!
Lovely analogy.
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?
This is pretty much the way I feel about housework all the time.