A woman is trying to clear a patch of knotweed without relying on easy but harmful tools. Herbicide feels too toxic; a chainsaw and electric clippers still burn fuel or draw power, just a longer tailpipe. So she chooses a hand pruner, accepting that the work will take much longer—bending in “blighted shade,” cutting each stem one by one, dragging the cut stalks into the sun to become mulch. The mood is weary but determined. There is guilt and care in her choices: she wants the labor to be direct and personal, not outsourced to chemicals or machines. By the end, the dead stalks become a kind of offering, spread on the paths to shade the soil, slow evaporation, and keep the garden alive in drought. The clearing feels less like a simple chore than a slow, sacrificial tending against death.
Clearing the Knotweed — Summary
Commonly, this is done with herbicide. Leery of that, she tried a chain saw. That was Easy enough, but made fumes and sets fire to All the earth's air over time. Electric clippers Ruled the roost awhile, but that, we know, In the scheme of things is but a longer tailpipe, Neither the labor direct nor personal. She's Going to have to simplify further. She takes The hand pruner with her to the patch. It means Her time in blighted shade, bending, will be Extended, reaching to each stem in turn, Killing with a snip and twist, dragging four or five Not so much weeds as small trees outward Or upward from the dry wash, toward hot sun, Toward the roasting garden, into the paths Where they'll be tossed as instant mulch Entreating the drought to respect their shade, Entreating irrigation not to evaporate, Dimming, in sacrifice, the roving eye of Death.