Narrative Poem: The Weeds on the Wall



Centuries ago the seas concealed cities,

Home to folk who prefered water to air,

Who looked nearly but not fully like we.

One was named Julrane, with ankle length hair

Blue as the water, and eyes of light, deep green.

She lived in Gulfia, near Persia, where

She tended the Citadel’s flower garden.

More plants thrived on the sea bottom back then.


Julrane worked quietly and by herself,

Though she rarely felt alone. She had the plants

To provide a sense of life outside herself,

And spoke to them as she would cousins or aunts.

She’d pot a few sometimes and keep them on shelves

In her room, where they became her confidants.

They were flowers, mostly, with some fruit and weeds.

Her favorites, though, were the wild ones; the weeds.


On her first day she’d been told to remove all

The weeds from the garden. She pulled up one

And it drifted to the garden’s chalky wall

And stuck. Seeing it, she knew what could be done.

Rather than remove she replanted, till all

The wall wore a green trim which she left alone

And let cover the bare, dormant chalk in life.

For this, having seen it, none could give her strife.