ODE Poem: Ode to Crabgrass, by Anne Bower

Hello crabgrass we said in eighteen forty-nine,
come feed our cows, horses, oxen.

Each plant sprawling hundreds of branches
and every summer,
gifting the land
one hundred fifty thousand seeds.

Manna grits some folks called you,
prolific seeds harvested, cooked
porridge to feed the whole family
before other grains
put you in shadow, demoted
you to pesky weed.

Generous, sturdy, you sneer
at fussy lawn growers’ every effort.

Why can’t they admire your skill,
your ability to root between
rocks, roots, paving stones.
Even the smallest rootlets
left behind by hoe,
trowel, poison,
rise to the next season.