Helianthus

Early

summer,

beneath the iron trellis

a weed breaks through mulch,

my children chide me to dig it up.

One day, with pruner

toning down tomato plants,

I am tempted to snip at the weed.

Weeks go by, I am less at home,

stopping in for laundry

then leaving for the road.

Late July heat sears souls and skin,

encourages growth.

By some miracle,

where weed once stood,

a bloom unfolds,

a green sea anemone

readying for tides.

A golden sunflower

opens mid-week.

I am ecstatic,

my children retreat.

Five, ten, then twenty blossoms

perform sun salutations.

Just below,

another shoot presents more blooms.

Can it be if we are patient,

every weed will turn

into an object of wonder,

if only we forget its name?