thumb down by Kristina Woodhill My left thumb no longer opposes, subject of the great weeding debacle of twenty ten, mid season, I'm pretty sure; past litany of its shrewd, gripping talents leave no doubt it was a fine contributing member, a team player in a knock-about arena beset by all manner of challengers - the bindweed, actually, was a repetitive tugging nuisance, but only mildly; its low-life, lay-about qualities, its obvious smothering of any and all created an easy path back to the root of its bullying, rambunctious nature - one quick pull, if caught early on, reduced it to a withering mass (I apologize if this callous hand offends) button weed in infancy, a straight-up release before that root tapped its enlightened way to Nepal, spotted spurge, a quick scrape of a sharp metal hoe; even the sticky catchweed was a light yank, though one had to quietly question, behind glove, some of its deeper entanglements; no, it was the spreading, strong-minded grass with its pernicious, searching agenda that ultimately “done her in”, as Eliza Doolittle declared to her shocked on-lookers - glossy green blades popping up here, rumored there, easing into any conversation where water even hinted at one molecule, where a crack in a crack foolishly revealed itself, where a bit of bare soil innocently shrugged a shoulder; I admit it was a grand tug-o-war, the give and take, the chase giving the blood hound reason, the warm sun teasing, teasing (really a voyeur to the train wreck ahead) and who really knows the final brutal tug that let the ligament suspect its sorry fate, soon confirmed, ice coddled, tightly splinted, four orphan fingers left to dangle a beached jelly fish at low tide a one-armed twin hanging off a cliff rope, long and strong 02/06/2011 Posted on 02/06/2011 Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill Member Comments on this Poem Posted by Linda Fuller on 02/07/11 at 05:57 PM "though one had to quietly question, behind glove, some of its deeper entanglements;" - I think this is my favorite line among many close contenders. Toward the end of January, I attempted a poem about weeding - funny, the synchronicity of timing/themes. Mine absolutely withers in comparison. Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 02/10/11 at 08:57 AM I never have to go out, I just need these poetic nature walks from you. Nice, love it all. Thanks. Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 02/10/11 at 07:33 PM Poor thumb! Nasty weeds! Weeding good therapy but hard on the hands! Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)