No crow came by today, no ones, no twos, no threes.
I had worms, succulent ones hanging onto the scilla
I yanked out. The log across the creek may not hold
me many more times. I’ll stop weeding that slope.
Everything is jumbo-sized.
The stinky bob weed is big as turkey platters,
smells of fetid fingers. Some people call it
I pulled eighteen stands of stinky bob
that looked like spiders sunning
in wisps of invader ivy
where wild morning glory poked out.
My mind stuck on the story of three war widows,
the women in the conflicted spotlight of that play,
laments translated into English.
Dandelions below the mower blade.
Invasive periwinkle blooms its blue.
Refugees hung in my hands.
No crow came by today.
* * *
Tricia Knoll is a Portland, Oregon poet who has maintained gardens all her life, sowing the seeds of sanity. She grew up admiring her mother’s roses and vegetable garden. She is an Oregon State University Master Gardener and volunteers at Portland’s Washington Park Rose Test Garden. Her chapbook Urban Wild is available from Amazon and focuses on interactions between humans and wildlife in urban habitat.