Grasping it by the stem, firmly, at the base
pinching at the knot of it just above the dirt
Slowly pulling, intuitively, matching the force needed
to the sense the roots dislodging but not breaking
from the soil beneath.
Feeling the runners unthread themselves
From the nearby grass.
Surprised at how far they'd reached
pulling upward and sideways to unfetter
the tangles that choked green and growth.
Sending light and air and aerated loam
to the starving cool carpet of emerald hairs.
Ants and crickets, beetles and cutworms, creatures of decay
scurry from their floating home and scramble
between the cracks in the sidewalk back to hell.
Cupping the torn carcass in my palm, like an umbrella from seeds like hail
cautiously placing the remains into a black bag,
covering the bald spot with mulch, a bandage for the earth
to smother the tare seeds and stall further assault.
Reaching for another and another until:
Surprised at the extent of scars left behind, confident the panhandle
summer heat and Bermuda runners will stretch over and heal
the abused land until you'd never know the battle I'd just fought.
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