What’s most begrudgingly admitted
about this thing we call COVID
is the way it did
exactly what needed to be done.
It pulled the weeds out by the roots—
yanked ‘em right out,
offering no time
to gently brush some dirt away
before harsh hands
and veiled gardeners
reached down, down,
into once still soil
and started tearing things up.
Perhaps for the better.
You see, I think I’m glad
that some of the weeds are gone.
I feel lighter, freer.
But that’s not to say that
in the garden-clearing process,
some flowers have not too,
been crushed.
Prettily planted
and neatly organized
raised beds of dreams,
and expectations,
and plans--
all scarily stomped on.
Haven’t each of us felt that in some way?
The crushing.
People says it’s seasonal,
that the stomping
and the weed-pulling
will cease come spring.
New life will sprout up,
masks will come off,
the sun will set a little later,
and smiles will be
a bit brighter.
I don’t know
that I fully believe
that narrative, though.
Will there not be another weed-pulling,
and another,
and another?
Is 2020
the beginning
and end
of every communal woe?
Surely not.
But is there an unseen hope
in that conclusion, too?
Absolutely yes.
Because the truth is,
weeds are torn
from earth and dirt
a little easier
in the summer months.
After regrowth
and practice,
and pulling thorns up
in the heat of day,
the backyard feels like
familiar terrain once more.
The yanking becomes
a little more bearable
when our hands are gloved,
our hearts expectant.
Won’t that be the same
with this strange space we’re in?
The yanking will, indeed,
become more bearable
as we prepare for all that’s ahead.
And perhaps, more of the garden
will flourish as our limbs
finally become knowledgeable
of the beauty underneath,
navigating what’s good
and what needs to go.
by
Bella Ravella
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