Grandmothers Are Weeds Poem by Jenny Kalahar

In the world of yellow, sunflowers are men overseeing the fields,
their sturdy heads surveying, leaves on hips,
and daffodils are women edging vegetable gardens,
smiling at carrot tops, tsk-tsking rabbits who come too close

Trees are grandfathers redirecting the wind,
filling it with ancient stories
and weeds are grandmothers bent over their task of sorting rocks,
colorful in the cracks, filling empty spaces

Violets are babies who hug and crawl along the lawn,
sweet and fragrant, exploring between bluegrass tufts
and dandelions are teens, beautiful one moment,
blowing away in a breeze the next, seeking newer lands