More Goldenrods Hidden In Poems

 
A Fierce Practice 9 17 17
 

It's fun to think that a year ago there was very little knowledge of native plants in this brain, and now the farm has a little patch of prairie of its own. (Albeit a patch of prairie that will still take some solid years to resemble a prairie. What are we, what do we call ourself, on our way to becoming? Is it a prairie now? Or can we only call it a prairie when it looks to everyone else like a prairie?) 

A Life

by Michelle Y. Burke

Each afternoon he took his pipe
and led his goats beyond the pasture
to a neighbor’s field behind his farm—
not exactly his but not exactly not.

As the goats clipped the tall grasses,
he sat in the chair he never failed
to bring. Sometimes he read, most often
not. The vetch climbed the goldenrod,

the dandelions turned from gold
to globe, and every day he went,
thinking to himself how good it was
to be almost but not entirely alone.

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See my favorite new native prairie plants HERE.