weeds

The danger
of memory is going
to it for respite. Respite risks
entrapment, which is never
good. Don’t debauch
yourself by living
in some former version of yourself
that was more or less naked.
Maybe it felt better then, but you were
not better. You were smaller, as the rain
gauge must fill to the brim
with its full portion of suffering.

What can memory be in these terrible times?
Only instruction. Not a dwelling.

Or if you must dwell:
The sweet smell of warm weeds then.
The sweet smell of warm weeds now.
An endurance. A standoff. A rest.

Danez Smith, “weeds” from Bluff. Copyright © 2024 by Danez Smith. Reprinted with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Graywolf Press, graywolfpress.org.