18, 19, and 20
Comments welcome--I'm posting more for having a record of these, but also to keep y'all informed.

18) Pulling weeds for OT

The grass has pervaded
the lush sweet william
for decades.

The growth is so tangled
that my fingers cannot discern
the separate roots.

I start from the top,
feeling my way down
the shards of grass.
and pull.

Put the torn sweet william
roots aside for transplanting later.

Shake the dirt from the invaders'
roots and throw them to compost.

I cannot pull out the roots
with this too-delicate surgery,
as they lie irrevocably
emb edded in centuries
of soil.

19) Sitting with a lap full of morning dog.

Kate, the sweet one, was caught
biting and snapping, while
Mischa, the wild one, refused
to come in and howled all day
while we made doctor rounds
and chased off the bad news
with our endless errands.

Now the two of them are
on a tight probation.
They understand nothing
beyond the cells of ropes
that now bind them.

And so they cling to my lap
for comforting--even
Mischa who had always
flinched at our touch.

The scene is painted calm
on early morning sunlight.

But you know--and I know--
that if the short leash came off,
all hell would break loose.

20) At your services

Your Shabbos songs startle
me into my uneasy childhood.

So familiar.
So entwined in forgotten memories
that I cannot see their beauty
in your eyes.

I try to peer beyond their roots
into the rich loam of your spirit--
but the old growth is still too thick.

Later, o sing us to sleep,
I croon a christian hymn I learned
from huddling outside church walls.

You shudder as its sound
startles your past.