Between Weeds
Allison Heim

From Mother-In-Law Tongue,
dead Fishhook Cactus and Blazing Star,
with Jack-In-The-Pulpit and Jacob’s Ladder
we’re overgrown. Sweet William,
my doomed brother,
hiding from dad in Crape Myrtle.
Me, Sweet Pea, pulling weeds
and parched ferns gold
from harsh sun. We know
only common names, slang
rejected by the International
Botanical Congress, no genus
or when to water or why
they grow. My brother and me,
if we could be weeds, poison-proof
and carefree, strangling
the roots of Western Wallflowers,
no fruit to tell who melted
in the compost. We’d defy
extinction, no family arrangements
or bland cultivation, our noble life’s purpose
only a race to the sun.

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