LITTLE WEED

It is considered unlucky
in Chinese wisdom to
declare your child beautiful.
And how could a thing of beauty
have sprung from the brambles
of our unkempt garden?

My little weed sprouted early
and was slow to sink his roots
and reach his tendrils up
around the chain link fence.
No demon dragon should note
the very delicate touch

that aches his mother's heart.
We gently bathe him and
train his leaves toward the sun.
He's already greened a deep
corner of our lives. But to you,
Evil spirit, he is nothing. Pass by.

© LINDA HAVILAND CONTE