Native Flowers

they call them weeds they
burn them over,
bury roots under brick, they
hate to see those colorful faces, they
hate a life that’s not chemically dependent,
that doesn’t need sold, they
call them weeds they
refuse their fragrance, they’d
rather not be
ruling meadows.

2 thoughts on “Native Flowers

    1. Thank you! Growing up on the farm, my dad always used to say that every weed was a flower somewhere. it always stuck with me and I definitely reference that sort of displacement frequently

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