The fire that made the garbage go away
blazed merrily, urged on by gusts of wind.
It was the sort of fresh, dry, pleasant day
when nuisance vines are begging to be thinned
out of the trees they'd kill, given their way.
Lopping the vines at roots, tripled and twinned,
I thought how Mother used to do this task;
For help and company she'd always ask.
I do it, now, alone. Some chores require
an extra pair of hands. The vines are easy.
Rhus glabra burned her pallid wrists like fire.
I'd join her in the garden, bright and breezy,
and never see the vines God sent to try her.
Though poison ivy doesn't even tease me
she had no faith that I could wash away
what caused her pain for weeks, if for a day.
Mothers are like that. I'm not one. I tear
japonica and Rhus and climbing rose
out of the earth that fruit trees may grow where
the vines are the earth's weeds--which once meant clothes:
what's worn was weed, what's woven, weed--now there
we see how words change as a language grows!
All things have purpose. Earth puts on her weeds
in spring, to meet the soil's and creatures' needs.
But they'll not have my peach tree. Vines come out,
tied into wreaths, and set like crowns on flame.
Since that primordial garden, none can doubt,
vines have their place, but it would be a shame
to let a cinnamon vine a peach tree rout.
Things are not equal. There are praise and blame
for right and wrong; not "positivity,"
not mere viridian life; we judge activity.
*****
That's the official poem prompted by, and shared at, Poets & Storytellers United for Friday Writings #119: In Memoriam. More verses came to mind. They are, as my mother was, Christian, and will be next week's Sunday post.
Bravo!! You've captured the vining problem perfectly. On a rare warm day two weeks ago i cut some of those suckers off my deer fence. They drag it down and then you now what happens! Damn deer. Damn vines that choke and twist and tangle. And I miss my mother because "some chores require an extra pair of hands."
ReplyDeleteEveryone must decide for themselves what is acceptable in their garden
ReplyDelete"There are praise and blame, for right and wrong; not "positivity," - Love this lines - We are often quick to judge and slow to forgive. This was very perceptive and very well written.
ReplyDeleteOh the world of a gardener. i never was one but my husband loves it. I enjoy the result I love those last lines
ReplyDeleteNicely written. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteSometimes you must be ruthless in order for something you love to survive. I do love the line "Things are not equal. There are praise and blame
ReplyDeletefor right and wrong; not "positivity,"
not mere viridian life; we judge activity."
Thank you for visiting, poets! I'm bemused by the way Google recognizes some Blogspot bloggers on some Blogspots and not on others. It doesn't recognize me on my own blog, though it does on some of yours!
ReplyDeletePK