It must have been a seed, tiny as a mustard seed
dropped by a bird, that took root in my yard.
I thought it was a weed, but decided to spare it
from the yardman’s cruel shears. Then one day
yellow petals, black pistils, a perfect bloom appeared
followed by many blossoms I arranged in a vase.
The bush grew shapeless, spread out, stopped blooming.
“Cut it back,” I instructed the yardman,
who attacked with his machete, cutting so much
that I feared he had killed it.
But it grew back stronger, again blooming.
The yard has grown unkempt since I gave up
my periodic attempts to tame its lushness.
The bush has grown so tall I cannot reach the top,
but enough flowers bloom on the low branches
to fill several vases. And in its foliage,
from predator and weather,
birds of the air find shelter.
– Noemi Escandell
