Beneath the Weeds

Today was the day,
I told myself.
Today I was going in
with thick gloves,
clippers and trowel,
to recover the garden
we once had,
now submerged
like an ancient civilization
under an ocean of weeds.

I met those weeds
on their level.
I matched their game,
tenacity for tenacity,
beating them back
like the voracious flames
they were, devouring
so many of our
carefully planted intentions.

Weeding and weeding,
I came to find there was
nothing left of our garden,
after all.

I felt like I’d been sent
to the far reaches of the world,
to dig for days under the red sun
in pursuit of a treasure,
only to unearth a Pez dispenser.
And an empty one, at that.

It felt a little like undressing
a ghost, article by article.
There is the apparition of
something tangible and worth
your dedication and toil,
but once you start digging,
you find only empty space.

Claire Juno, © 2013

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