Pulling Weeds (a poem)

Pulling Weeds
I’m not sure which is preferred,
writing poetry or pulling weeds.
There’s something satisfying
about looking at the roots of either,
of tugging on something that resists.
I’m sure the roots from poems
or those of weeds can never be
completely removed from an earthen bed.
Weed-free for a day or two
before new shoots emerge
through dirt in my head.
Once again I pause,
stooping to pull out
these persistent weeds.
Tossing them into piles
sorted on this page to dry.
There are tangled and incomplete roots
delicate and interconnected roots
or coarse ones with pungent sticky sap
guarded by thorns and spines,
all originating from this soil.
5/2/2013   7:52am
(Read more poems:  http://www.zeorlinart.com/poempage.html)

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