by Yahia Lababidi.
For hours in the morning sun
I knelt over our plants,
like a prayer carpet
Devoted to weeding our garden
I sweat, squint and grunt
marveling at the tenacity of living things
How stubborn neglected weeds can be
clinging for dear life, like bad habits…
over time, almost stitched to the earth
Yes, some were undeniably alluring
not unlike our sly, deceitful sins—
evil masquerading as good
Prompting us to dig deeper
seeking the root, to eliminate
what is undesirable from returning
Remarkable interconnectedness
unfathomable, delicate balance
not least, the role of the lowly worm
How it quietly, steadily turns the soil
assisting water and nutrients to flow
like our own out-of-sight soul work
After the rain, the dirt yields
to such spiritual pruning—
the way tears soften hardened hearts.