At the edge of the parking lot,
in a crack between pavement and curb,
Only about three inches tall, but
I can tell it’s a maple.
It will never grow to its full potential, and
may be chopped to the ground
next time the gardener mows.
I appreciate the vitality,
the struggle to be noticed in a place
where everything gets suppressed
between a rock and a hard place.
there is a seedling.
(Editor’s note: poet Shai Ben-Shalom, an Israeli-born biologist, examines current events in the Blacklock’s tradition each and every Sunday)