in my family’s orchard.
It’s two feet tall, barely
passing my knee.
I could tear it from the ground;
sever the roots; and leave it
for the fungi to feast on —
It cannot stop me, nor protest.
But, if I let it grow, eventually,
it will dwarf me. Then, try as I might
to wrest it from the earth, it will hold fast.
So, I’ll let it be — to block BART’s screech and
the cacophony of
I could’ve ripped you from the ground
when you were low. Instead, I poured into you,
and now you tower over the people below.