spring harvest
lizards scutter sideways
along a cinder block wall
in a cloudless sky a pair
of ravens swoop and soar
I stand waste high
in a field of foxtails,
toiling in the sun
the wet winter that brought
relief to a parched land
also fostered this scruffy
yield of interlopers
I stoop to grab a fistful of stems
and – with grunt and tug – wrench
the roots from hard clay soil
insects scramble from the harsh
light and disrupted earth to hide
anew in a virgin forest of weeds
this pleasure I find in
working the yard
it must be in the genes
I pause to catch my breath
a swig from the water bottle
soothes a dry throat
a sudden scent of orange blossom
wafts through the April air
it triggers shadowed memories of
young love and stolen kisses
of lips wet with heightened desire
but … to the task at hand
I know that even as I pull
and remove a plant, some of
its stickers will fly free
to scatter and sow the seed
each one a tiny dart
determined to penetrate
and carry on the cycle
the earth will circle the sun
there will be another crop
and – with good fortune –
I will be here for the next harvest
04-05-17