Sow the Seed Then Let it Go

For some time now these vines have crept across my garden,
sneaking up the trellis, clawing at my window.
They are intruders invading my comfort zones.
Over here, sandspur buries itself in a patch of sweet William
threatening its spice-scented blooms.

I turn to you, standing there grinning.
Your smile spreads like wind-blown seed across my pathway.
Today your are sixteen.

I am at the center of the garden, hoe in hand, ready to rip out
this vine that hangs like an albatross around the necks of tulips.
I am eager to snip these long-armed bandits
that chase impatiens around the bells of baby-blue-eyes.
You are asking questions involving car keys.

You refocus my thoughts pruning them down.
I try to find excuses not to allow you this freedom.
Like snow on winter wheat, I want to stall your growing;
just as the morning glory hastens beyond the rim of the fence
someday you too will orphan me.

You sit and fidget, waiting for an answer.
My attention wanders to a patch of blue,
where forget-me-nots stretch their heads to search the sun.
They struggle in their quiet places, reach for freedom found in air
all the while evading the kangaroo vine that stalks its tiny petals.
And here a cluster of love-lies-bleeding stains the brick along the walk.

You are persistent in your asking.
Like hail on summer corn, I attach warnings to your wishes.
Remind you of perils and dangers
that flourish before you like wild-horse thistle.

But finally, like the aerial starburst of the spider plant
I will send you out like a tender shoot
knowing that you are still deep rooted.

Florida State Poets Association 1998 Contest
Third Place Category 16