“The only difference between a flower and a weed is judgement.” - Wayne Dyer

I have mistaken Ragweed for Goldenrod,
alleyways for gardens, watched them torn out,

make way for something better. I have asked
what better is, been taught the benefits of

a healthy tan, a good diet, three square meals
and an hour of exercise a day.

Once, a coyote chastised me for drinking espresso
before bedtime. All night I watched him watch me,

both of us tense, locked

Dearest, I meant to prove myself worthy
of every challenge, up to death itself.

The day began with feats of strength, like
getting out of bed and brushing my teeth.

I took till noon to venture out; by then
the mid-day sun hovered angrily,

a hive of wasps I couldn’t swat away.
Where had all the shade gone? I retreated

to bed, but the covers burned my skin; I heard
the oppressive buzz of insects under my pillows.

You needn't believe in ghosts to dance with
them. Just ask the Robin napping in the
quiet of a broken fountain, drunk on jasmine
and sugar. Ask drowsy Orion, who was up all
night, or the Taiga, bent on its knees, heaving
snow and ice. Ask the businessman who got
away with it, or the panhandler who did not,
who admonishes you not to make promises
you can’t keep. Ask the judge who says of
your earnest complaint,

“When you attack us, you will see our faces. Not our backs, but our faces.”

- President Volodymyr Zelensky

Beneath
a Bougainvillea-laced trellis
I read of war and war and war
when I am startled by a sound
deep and insistent
like an omen or a warning.

But looking up
all I spy
is a hummingbird
drinking nectar.

Slowly
I unclench my fist
and give up the Molotov cocktail
I had begun to conjure there.

What a shame to read