Pulling the Weeds

Here is a poem that I wrote:

Pulling the Weeds

Sitting in the grass in the Parque Carolina
Maya and Jonah are nearby, playing a variation of a game held over from home.
It involves picking dandelions and clover, making a pile, and calling it a pie.

My own thoughts, I discover, are absent of any idea that
I need to be
somewhere else, or
I have to do
anything different.
It's like I've hired a gardener for my head.