Other Weeds

by Anna Sheppard


i only ever brought him there once, beginning of january
but near the end of everything else, i know
because the poppies were losing color, leaking red
onto the untouched soil of that otherwise forgotten field,
and the golden winter wheat growing wild along the edges
had browned too soon. by a patch of mushroom
she laid his head in my lap, said the crying crickets reminded him
of his father’s cell phone when it rang during family dinners,
said there wasn’t enough green, enough life, though this didn’t
stop him from pulling a dandelion from its home in the dirt,
from plucking its feather-like petals one by one,
from letting them fall to the ground, all those wasted wishes.

 

Author Biography: Anna Sheppard is from the low country of South Carolina.
She currently lives in Greenville, South Carolina, where she studies creative writing
at the Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities. She enjoys Fleetwood Mac
and talking too much about her twin sister.

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