Circle Weed

How to say this nicely?

You know, I’m not psychically gifted, and my mother always bitched if you got nothing nice to say- well, you know how it goes.

I never listened, this
much
she knows.

Smile, nod and the world will see
you chose to be complacent, looking in your
impatient offspring’s blues, praying for proof
they won’t be in a rush to grow up in
this faithless sinkhole,
expected to uphold
ideals that hold no
appeal in
places
nothing
grows.

I was given gardens in
a forest’s armpit, hit
lists of heartache I couldn’t
fertilise worth shit,
so I would sit and
trace a story in
the stubborn soil,
radioactive character foils to
the
flowers I may
never tend.

If you’d only told me I’m a caretaker of the dead, I’d have never tried to save my charge, like ducklings in a drowned backyard. I wouldn’t have taken it so hard when waters ran red and the
eulogies were read,

but instead,
I’m some idiot savant,
my only awkward magic conversing with cadavers.

How to say this nicely, albeit in-
sincerely, intentions
gaunt.

Enjoy your
disaster ever after.

I will stay behind,
a protest song of circle weeds,
in a flower’s font.

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2 thoughts on “Circle Weed

  1. Dear Nicholas,
    The only home we have is within ourselves. It is the only garden we are given, the only one we can truly tend. If you fertilize and tend it well it may even flower and set seed, seed as worthy and as strong as yourself. Don’t give up. What you do has value.
    Holly
    Angel in the dust

    Like

  2. Sometimes, we carry the values our parents taught to us without knowing it, and, because we couldn’t introspect on our own behaviors, because we never learned to examine ourselves closely, we are more than likely to repeat what was done to us by our parents, onto the next generations…

    Like

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