I spy a blackberry vine. Can you find it? How many dandelions can you count? For more GBMD posts check out Sweet Home and Garden Chicago.
I march through the yard with a hard eye,
yanking weeds, asserting a path,
incensed by the relentless advance
of honeysuckle and morning glory vines
weaving under everything like an insidious subtext,
determined to have their loopy, insensible say
even as I slash them back, seeking their polyphonous source,
my finite gestures meaning nothing to them,
as they know I will tire, drift back into the house
and forget our duet for days, even weeks,
letting them spin their tales, full of plot twists,
almost orchestrating my little bench into their melody,
so that when I finally cut back a spot and sit,
and the chimes pick up a phrase of wind,
it becomes clear I am just a half note of silence,
a pause in the longer song.
--Aleida Rodríguez, Garden of Exile, 1999
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