I plant seeds,
roses, and petunias, all laced with bitterweed,
cast out fertilizer
and await the rain.

Poetry grows,
but only the bitterweed thrives;
its thick steams consume the garden,
prevent the aroma of scented memories ~
rosy days filled
with fond remembrance of you.

I weed through strangling stalks
to free the roses and petunias,
to allow them to weave
their own paths through the garden,
but i cannot grasp
the thick tangled roots of bitterweed.