The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: The Familiar by Sarah Kain Gutowski

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We Want for More

Among the garden’s weeds my extraordinary self sits,
wondering how she came to this: banishment, but gradual—
an exile by degrees. One day, praise like sun in June; then

shadow: not so much reprisal as silence, stretched long
as overcast sky. Now, squatting near the mute watermelon
and cucumber hills, ornamental leaves that don’t belong

catch her eye. She marvels at the weed’s tenacity, how it
clings to the other plants, how much precision and time
it takes to remove tendrils of bad from good. Despite

the low clouds, my extraordinary self is a burnt mess,
and between the pain peeling her shoulders and soil
that coats her teeth, she cannot help but feel self-pity,

watching her image distort in the weed’s gloss then
disappear when she removes the vine. It seems
a shame to waste such ambition, such determination,

but the purslane—flowering, delectable when consumed—
threatens the cultivated vegetables and fruit. It’s beautiful,
but wrong for this patch of earth. She slices its roots

with her spade and scatters the knots and emerald stalks
and gorgeous vine into the compost heap. Little sister,
she thinks. It’s time to leave. We want for more than we should.

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