"WEEDS," A POEM FOR MY FRIENDS ON THANKSGIVING

Dandelions, ©Aliki Barnstone 

Weeds

I like dandelions, though most say they’re weeds.

In Greece they’re called wild greens.

Every day the sun shines this stormy spring,

I swear I’ll harvest, steam, and serve them

with extra virgin olive oil, lemon, and salt,

yet I don’t make the time because I’m not

a wizard who knows how to rip the minutes

and hours out of the universe by their roots

the way I used to pull up dandelions and clover.

If time were a garden, I guess the sunset hours

would be the peonies and rarest fragrant roses

and the weeds would be the seconds that spread

into minutes and hours and choke the life

out of what I most cherish. Perhaps.

If I could harvest the dandelions and cook them

perfectly, I wonder if my concoction would be

eternity served on a white platter with a tall carafe

of red wine and a basket of homemade bread

to a table crowded with all my loved ones.

©Aliki Barnstone, appears in Enchanting Verses, Issue XIX, 2013

"Greens," ©Aliki Barnstone