Wishing for More Weeds


My mother suffered from depression. She found many ways to cope with this burden. This was one of those ways. I can see her now.


In the hottest part of the summer

August when our lawn turns brown

Unwatered and drier than sand

My mother pulls weeds


Working her way up one side

And down the other of the gravel driveway

Pulling each dandelion growing along the

Edge of the straw of our lawn and the stones


Inching along, taking every blade

Moving stones to reach the roots

Baking in the unwatered heat

Wishing for more weeds


I see her from the road

Bent over the current weed

Her back and arms browner each day

The seam of the driveway straight and hairless


In the back, my dad is mowing

A sound of enterprise

Our household at work

I join my mother at the edge


Pulling weeds, moving down the line

She says nothing, but repeats my work

Finding the strands left behind

Digging under the stones for the roots


Wishing for more weeds






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