A Pain in My Grass
Thomas Merton Brightman
All rights reserved
Zhivago branches tapping window
Tears in every pane
Something always waiting in the weeds
Another pain in the grass
To one for whom
So very much was unpredictable
For whom
Spontaneity consistently turned cruel
For whom
Play always ended with punishment
For whom
The face of change was violence
Forever
Scanning the horizon
Planning a comeback
Predicting an outcome
Regaining some control
Restoring safety or sanity
Looking for a path of retreat
Uproar always knocking at my door
Wished for sanctuary
Serene spaces and places
Not upheaval and chaos
What celebration
The day I came to laud dandelions
The beauty of their randomness
Their play and disrespect
No longer the symbol of a pain in my grass