Once again, I was wrong. And didn’t even realize I thought I was right. Just looked at the weeds’ sharp heads and assumed no one would want to eat them pulled the plants by the roots across half the garden as the spring sun went down. The next morning, striped sparrows flushed through the yard. Clipped seed heads by the base, swallowed whole their three-inch spines. Maybe I don’t need to say it but I will: how many times this happens each day, what I think I know painting itself across the ceiling of my mind, furrowing the skyline, tinting the window glass. And how many times I don’t see the sparrow, miss the contradiction, look past the world glancing back, whispering defiantly: think again.
Originally Published in Verse-Virtual, May 2023.
Photo by Mike Von.
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