The Garden of Life

After I put in my eight long hours today

Slumped against the sign at the bus stop

And trudged home on aching feet

A familiar sight greeted me:

My mother weeding her garden

Wearing her wide-brimmed hat

And gardening gloves

On her hands and knees

Rooting for the roots of those which crowd,

Clutter, and slowly but surely destroy her

Little patch of green

I thought about my day, my week, the last few months

And, watching my mother, I decided then and there

That I wanted to do the same thing,

Just on a bigger scale

She weeds her garden

I want to weed my life.

The bad bits from the past, with such deep roots

I want to hunt them down

One by one

Examine them, find their weak spots

(Rather than the other way around)

And dig them out, once and for all

I want to pull with a ferocity

That rids me of all the anger I hoard inside

I refuse to further nourish the sad parts

Watering them with my tears

And I’ll no longer shy away from the scary ones

Now they’ll have me to fear

But maybe this won’t be as easy as it seems

For while it’s easy enough to distinguish

Dandelion from daffodil,

Simple daisies aren’t really flowers,

So tell me…are you?

I need to put you into a category

Do you stay or do you go?

Because I could never forget you,

But forget-me-nots…they’re weeds too.

This time I can’t wait for you

To decide, to make up your mind

I just don’t have that kind of time

This time, the choice is mine

To dig up even the deepest roots and force you out

Or to declare you to be truly unforgettable,

A morning glory open and wonderful sometimes,

And closed the next…

A truly miraculous flower?

Is all the joy worth all the pain?

Could anything ever fill the hole you’d leave?

I need to know:

Are you a flower or a weed?