Pulling weeds

Pulling weeds

Pulling weeds in the wind
their dying crackle running up my arm
to lodge in the place of regrets and doubts.

But beneath the coarse-haired stalks
of sow thistle and avens,
smooth and scallop-leaved ancolie and capucine,
green and blue as the sea-sky,
nod their delicate thanks.

Pulling weeds in the wind
where the earth is dry and hard as stone,
I feel the hands of ancients clasping mine
with rough fingers, cracked and calloused
and full of love.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

14 thoughts on “Pulling weeds”

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