Kudzu


You were better
than the woodpecker
and squirrels.
They were pests,
ignorant of my needs,
and offered me nothing.

You drove them out
and gave me pride.
Knowledge that
the crevices of my branches
were just as important
to you,
as they were to the rain drops
that needed a path
to slowly down on.
You eased me
with your thin
and snaking stems. It was
an unmistakable caress.

It seems you are
not the polite child
trying to make its way in life,
beaming, blinded
in awe of the sun.

There are not many things
like you, but of those
that are, I see them now.
You are a logger in disguise.
You are the product of hallmark
card and rocking chair factories.
Of manila folders, tabloids, checkbooks,
and the makers of eight and a half
by eleven slivers of my relatives.
Or did you inspire these things,
these treacherous imitations
of what you do?


And so, I am hungry and sick,
my friend. I gave you all I had:
My space in the sky, I rationed
the rain with you, and let you cast
a shadow with me
on the dew coated grass.

You are a murderous lover,
double agent, leader
of a quest to level giants,
fatal and organic
you know every part of me,
down to what made me.

Because of you, I'll be
pulled from this earth.

This is why I know
we are not the same.

So before I give way,
tell me what made you.
Tell me before I timber
into the shadows
streaming
from the grass blades.