I tend to my life like a garden. Just a small plot in a big world.
I've amended the soil countless times over countless years, changed
the size and shape to fit my plans. There were dry years and wet ones,
both from circumstance and neglect. Days I found myself in the weeds,
everything choked and chewed beyond recognition. I'd pull on my gloves
and begin again. Some things failed, some thrived. Some, a total surprise.
I've learned to enjoy the flowers when they come, their color and fragrance fleeting.
I know they will not last, but that's ok. When fruit appears, in its ripe and fleshy
sweetness – I bite, all the way in. For it, too, will not last the season. Even the weeds
serve a purpose. Even the weeds, in all their weedy glory, deserve to be here.
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Shaun R. Pankoski (she/her) is a poet most recently from Volcano, Hawaii. A retired county worker and two-time breast cancer survivor, she has been an artist’s model, modern dancer, massage therapist and honorably discharged Air Force veteran. A 2024 Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared here and in Jackdaw Review, Quartet, Gargoyle, Thimble, and MockingHeart Review, among others. She was selected as a finalist by Lefty Blondie Press for her chapbook manuscript, Tipping the Maids in Chocolate: Observations of Japan and as a first runner up for her poem, Lupine, in their 2025 Editor's Choice Broadsides Series.
Lightwood 