NAPOWRIMO poem for Day 22, a poem about a plant.
Please believe you’re not a weed.
If my neighbors didn’t spray you
I’d have plopped you in my salad,
or made herbal tea from your leaves.
For heaven’s sake, every child brings
a bouquet of your yellow wilting soft
flowers to their mom on some
remarkable spring day. Remarkable
because of you. Some of those children
even wear your yellow color smudged
on their upper lips. Yes, for heaven’s sake,
stubborn teens favor tattoos of you;
and not a tattoo of your flower, but instead
the seeded leftovers after your bloom is gone,
all those fluffy travelers hell-bent
on survival in the neighbors’ yards.