That’s all it was.
Growing through a crack in the concrete gutter,
Cut down just as it began to stretch its leaves
two west-east, two south-north up a pulpy stalk.
A foot high at most when leveled at the curb,
It was left to wither in the heat until
its destroyer came to toss it away.
At least it wasn’t pulled up by its roots.
A weed, that’s all it was.
A disruption. Itself disrupted.
But also, and more,
A poultice, a tea.
It will grow again from the tenderest of root tips
and unashamedly stretch its leaves, two north-south, two east-west towards the sun.
Doesn’t it deserve the same consideration as a rose?