Yarrow
Subdued white petals
Their flowers tempt the bees,
With leaves, all lace and patience.
Their beauty is simple,
easy to trust.
Admire them.
Pluck one of their stems
from the mountainside
enveloped in green and white.
Polite inside a vase,
contained,
until they wither.
Moldy foliage clings to the glass
As I
Toss them to the compost,
worms greet their decay.
Their seeds, their essence,
change to roots.
They creep through the garden,
not needing any tending.
Peeking from the strawberries,
Their soft white blooms.
Thirsty roots claim
sandy soil,
Taking over until,
carrots falter,
beans go pale.
Those lacy leaves,
weave with confidence
through every row
I once tenderly loved to life.
Pluck.
Pull.
Yank.
I can't get rid of them.
There will always be fragments—
waiting,
ready to
sprout again,
and ravage
what I once loved.
A bit about this poem… I wrote it for class (Poetry and Poetics with Maya Jewel Zeller 🥰). The prompt was to use a native plant in the PNW and turn it into a poem using anthropomorphism and personification. I originally had the plant speaking, but it didn't feel “right" so I revised it to this. 🤷♀️