Jewelweed · Stanford Trail

Beneath the Bloom

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by Judith Mansour

Jewelweed 
Oxymoron of sorts 
Kind of like, you’re pretty 
For a foreign girl, they said 
When you’re not even foreign 
Or maybe you are but what does that matter 
The thing with weeds is that they are not foreign 
Indigenous 
They just crop up 
Like the convenience store your dad never had 
Was accused of owning 
‘Cause he drove a Cadillac 
Had olive skin 

The thing with weeds is that 
They’re healers, sometimes 
Hidden kindness 
Jewelweed soothes 
The relentless itch of poison ivy 
Scratched so much that the skin breaks open 
Starts to bleed 
Generous in sap, zaps the pain 
Like a hug from your mom when  
Your third grade teacher called you a dirty Syrian  
But you weren’t dirty or Syrian

The parks and the woods 
Where you’re encouraged to hike 
The scenic trails 
Pretty with plants and vines and brush 
That you cannot pick or pluck or take 
For fear of fines, steep and harsh 
The cost of living without knowing the rules  
Refined flora, not mixed, cross pollinated  
But all you saw was a tangle of green  
With magnificent petals, buzzing with bees

Jewelweed is fine to satisfy an itch 
After slumming in the woods 
A shoulder to cry on, as it were 
But you’re not to be kept, brought home 
In a crystal vase, a bouquet, God forbid 
With that luscious bloom 
That makes boys chase girls they won’t love for real 
Impatiens capensis 
Irresistible nectar 
Hummingbirds, butterflies  
Lured, seduced by their exotic flesh 
But we know better 
The Pale or Spotted Touch-Me-Not 
Is a weed  
A perennial 
Invasive, intrusive 
Assuming too much

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