I have been dreaming of nettles.
On the edge of my awakening
they are there in my garden
needing attention before they choke the hydrangeas.
I know they need to be pulled from the root
so my dreaming self looks for a tool
because even if you grip from the base
the roots stay entrenched
and the nettles survive.
And where in this dream are my gardening gloves
so my fragile hands are protected from the stinging bristles?
Every morning, when the soil is moist from dew
they creep into my dreams and I'm pushed outside to take care of them.
Where is my tool?
Where are my gloves?
So many nettles.
Before you ask:
I will not be brewing them into a soothing tea.
There is nothing soothing about these nettles
popping up again and again
pushing me to work on my knees
to pull up those roots
to avoid the stings;
to get up early
to face the dawn
to protect the hydrangeas.
Here are resources for Supporting communities (esp youth) during the Derek Chauvin trial