Every day I walk paths round my borrowed home.
Admiring ginger Thomas, white cedar flowers.
But somewhere on my wander, unbeknownst to me,
I pick up thistles on my shoes, socks, skirt.
Where? I wonder.
I have no idea.
Only that those thistles smart.
I need a handkerchief to pluck them.
They’re also smart in a clever sort of way.
They hitch a ride.
To settle, seed some other space.
For unwary souls to come upon.
Unbeknownst to them, to carry yon.
Lynn Benjamin
January 14, 2022