Katherine Spadaro

Learning the Names of Weeds

Learning the names of common weeds

transplants you to a place where you

adjust your neat white cap and say,

"Ah, fleabane, see, is growing there.

I’ll send some up to Egbert for his

hounds, poor things, tormented by

the summer fleas. And plantain, look!

The very thing we’re needing for

the soup. What’s that you say, about

young Tom? He likes you not? Of course

he does. Now there’s sow thistle. You

take that, and wash your face in the

white sap, each day, and what a blooming

maid you’ll be! Oh, Tom will see

you’re pretty then. It never fails.

Now pick me up that purslane for

my knees ain’t what they used to be.

There’s nothing that’s not good for.

Old Edgar is a silly sot

who’s far too old to climb a tree

but when he fell he knocked his head

and purslane helps the bump to heal.

Now, look, fat hen – goosefoot, some say –

you might just fill the basket. How

do I know that it’ll work? Because it

always does, my pet, and if we

rinse your hair as well, in nettles

steeped in cider, then Tom will

lose his heart to you by Lammas Day.

(Some ribbons too will do no harm.)

Now cobbler’s pegs, let’s gather some -

the parson’s wife has earache. And

St John’s wort, I’ll take that back

to Betty Crewe who weeps all day.

Do I think Tom is handsome?

Well, yes I do. His father was…

Well, never mind. ’Tis time to head

for home, my dear, with all this good,

and go and eat our bread." 

Katherine Spadaro was born in Scotland, has lived for many years in Australia, and is now in Turin, Italy with her husband. Poetry happens for (to?) her when the familiar suddenly seems strange and momentous - and wondering how that moment can be expressed is the work of writing. Occasionally a poem gets accepted on its first outing but most of them get edited in a dungeon for years.