The garden was finally free of weeds after five hours

of pulling, hoeing, chopping, and cursing the randy

intruders that wantonly fling their seeds at my touch

so their return is guaranteed and I can feel them

winking at each other behind my back sharing their

joke about eternal life while the lettuce I planted blinks

in the delicate light of dappled sun and gives me a look

like Blanch DuBois explaining how the she has always

depended on the kindess of strangers. So I get the

lettuce a cold drink and with the laughing weeds at

my feet, I sit for a visit and I remind what I want to grow

that the soil is perfect and the days are cool and there’s

really no excuse for their indolence and before I know it

I’ve said too much and the lettuce turns pale and begins to

fade despite my desperate apology and the offer of another drink.

© dana hughes 5.6.14