“Top view of a dandelion” by Angel caboodle at English Wikipedia.
These unwanted memories are like weeds.
They’ll pop up where you think
you’ve got things all neat and
maybe looking pretty. They mar
views of the pastels and primaries
we wish to keep. Sure, they’re green
and bend to the wind, playing
the same tune as those blossoms
in the window box of your heart.
I’ve tried jerking these weeds
from the soil of time, the time
we spent pollinating a failed hybrid
that could never take root.
That’s the problem. I can pull and pull,
but their roots go deep, deeper than
they can climb, and they always return.
I considered poisoning them,
like you did mine, but, then I recalled
the short time they show such
pretty little flowers. I’d miss that
momentary beauty, no matter
how much it make my eyes water.