I’m remembering a weed
with a pale and matte pink seed
that resembled a small glass bead.
Long ago on sweaty days,
the sun diffused by haze
no playmates to be found
just bugs and grass and ground
out on an aimless walk
I’d strip a sturdy stalk
and cup the unstringable beads,
which didn’t serve my needs
and toss them to the grass
and search for sassafras
with its leaf assortment pack
and wish I didn’t lack
the know-how to pursue
a fizzy root-beer brew.
Great world you were abuzz
with prickly pods packed full of fuzz.
Great world you were awash
in bees and snakes and squash
all of which I eschewed
to the point of being rude
to your bounty and your brood.
I apologize to you,
took you for granted, it is true.
A city dweller now
far from the nearest cow
I google pink, New England, weed
and scroll with expert speed
but don’t quite satisfy my need —
Jesus weed (or ladysthumb)
is the closest that I come
to the sturdy weed I knew
but wasn’t gentle to
that’s been much on my mind,
so beautifully designed.
I wish I’d been more kind.
—
Michele Herman’s novel, Save the Village, was a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Prize, and she’s published two chapbooks: Victory Boulevard and Just Another Jack. Her work has appeared in recent issues of Carve, Ploughshares, The Hudson Review, The Sun and LitHub. She’s a devoted teacher at The Writers Studio.
