straw
covers a raw wound
of new dirt,
where a tangle
of bushes and weeds
was ripped out
to soothe the sensibilities
of human aesthetics,
leaving behind
grieving trees
to mourn their neighbors.
This poem was written after I looked out my apartment window and saw a miniature jungle of weeds and seedlings right in the center of the lawn had been ripped out. Management told me they're going to plant grass there so now it'll look just like all the other cookie-cutter lawns in the neighborhood. I miss the little jungle and I just feel like the big trees do, too!