Weeding

Hot, muggy Arkansas days
Pass by with the speed of growing plants

I am down low
On level with the bugs
Pick pick picking
At the weeds in Mom’s garden

The flowers stand tall around us
The vegetables, too
But the dull, purposeless weeds bite at our ankles

The garden is still beautiful with them, I think

Mom thinks differently
She nurses perfection to its potential,
Imperfections are cut off

Pick pick pick
Gathering everything that doesn’t belong here

To my left, a baby snake curls around the plants
Nestling in the disheveled soil
Making its home in our backyard

The garden is still beautiful wi-

Mom, do you even like me?

A scream from Mom triggers its untimely demise. The baby snake taking shelter under the flower petals is cut into pieces by a frantic shovel.

I helplessly stare at the pieces, the pieces helplessly stare back.

Mom throws the corpse out of the garden and reverts back to normalcy.

Life Lesson One: imperfections don’t get funerals, nor do they get a burial.


[Hey all, thanks for reading. I know my writing isn't the best but I appreciate all the support.]