The Weed in My Garden

Two hands clasp in friendship, a mingling of souls
A fire burns away the past and
Paves the way for a new beginning

Beautiful feelings rage
Dreams, stories, pain, and anger
Are exposed in full daylight, nothing hidden

Truth and lies from
The bottom of the sea reveal a life full of treasure
Waiting gladly to be discovered

Until a storm of doubt, fear, and shame
Ascends and everyone takes cover
Darkness and isolation rain down like tears on a face

Violence and neglect, a refusal to water the plant
Brought home until it struggles gasping for breath,
For that one drop of water to ease its’ soul from hell

Is this where the story ends?
Is it where the road eternally forks?
Or is it what’s required to learn to plant a beautiful garden?

Choices we cannot control dictate the next move:
The number of thorns and rocks in the ground
The nearness to the River, the abilities of the caretakers

Dependence is not intimacy, separateness is not freedom
The war rages between hearts and inside the minds
Perfection is impossible, could anything less ever be accepted?

There is a beauty in the weed that arose despite the conditions
The hearty, strong, and lonely weed that will not go away no matter how I pull at it
The weed whose root runs deep has a name: Survival

Survival consumes my soul, but I know him and am comfortable with him
We are old friends, Survival and I; he will not destroy me, but will
Inspire me to push my head up and allow the Sun to look on my face

The Wind will blow out the dead leaves from my garden
The Fire will burn away the brush and burst open the seed
The Water will flow and renew youthful life again

And so I can see the beauty of my Weed
And appreciate the heartiness required to survive without care
And see it not as a Weed, but as my soul and life, and something to cherish











The Weed in My Garden

Rachael K. Hartman 9.25.20

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