Planting Milkweed
Pure white angel hair tufts
fountain from brown seed heads
I reach into the paper bag of soft silk
pull out handfuls like childhood dreams
to rub into the dirt
press down their urge to fly
so they settle and take root
in sunny spots where they might thrive
the weight of trapping those fragile wings
of tethering their lift so they have a chance
not just for themselves dwindling despite
their downy fullness but for the dying-off monarch
the heaviness as I grind them in soil
like telling my kids “no” and laying down rules
so they struggle with constraint
to stay safe and grow strong bearing
pod-fulls of notions that may nourish
themselves and their world
my white dog wanders away as I plant
rolls in river otter scat and wild turkey droppings
I have to wrestle him in the tub
speak harshly pinching his haunches down hard
so I can scrub under his ear and chin his neck
so he comes out white and not smelling like crap
some seeds fly off beyond my grasp
landing in the marsh to shrivel in salt
some are blown up the driveway onto the street
a few free-floaters will alight in just the right crevice
our neighbor’s son fell through the cracks
addicted to psychedelics at fifteen trapped
clean in his drug-testing school but here now
on weekend leave flapping his long limbs
telling me his dream of flying to the Amazon
to train as a sacred plant ingesting shaman
as I smudge each feathered tendril into the earth.
Jennie Meyer, M.Div., is a mother, poet, yogi, and labyrinth walker. Her poetry is forthcoming or published in Folded Word, Anchor Magazine, Albatross, Artis Natura, Ascent Aspirations Magazine, The Avocet Weekly, Common Ground Review, and Patchwork Journal. Jennie lives in Gloucester, MA with her husband, three children, and resident wildlife.
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