I am a Weed

I

am

a

weed

woody,

gangly,

no

lipstick,

no

shine.

But

I

know

how

to

grow

through

cement.

I

know

how

to

take

a

sliver

of

filtered

sunlight

and

a

teaspoon

of

dirt

and

make

a

life.

I

can’t

go

deep

so

I

go

wide,

fingers

crawling

under

city

streets,

down

past

Front

Street—

and

around

the

corner,

to

the

end

of

the

block

and

back

again.

-Jan Avellana, 2019