Ode to Purslane

Purslane grows through a staple hole in the weed cloth next to cucumbers

This Persistent Earth

She yields to my pull,
releases her bounty,
for I’ve had enough
of her crawling,
sprawling offspring
in my gardens.

Yet, her seed has a will,
worships sun and rain,
appears again without
restraint, forgives
another hand
that prefers cultivation
rather than raw
wild flavor—free
succulent nourishment.

A mother, Earth gives
food for my good
without due respect
for her gift, without
warning for waste
of Portulaca oleracea,
fecund Purslane that finds
Nirvana in my stony
driveway and loamy
lavender fields.

She yields to my pull,
predictable to reproduce
when a seedpod falls,
or a trace
of root in place
to sprout
and grow again.