We are driving to Davis, and I can’t tell
if I’m supposed to be here. Every time

we see mullein, we go out of our way
to uproot it—invasive species, you say

with disgust, and I nod in agreement,
even though mullein is known

to soothe coughs and nerves.
A long time ago, I might have

worshipped this expedition, its every
attempt to prune me, offer me sun

and shade in equal measures.
Every time I see a rocky hillside

sprawling with rhododendron, I think
of how the plant predates the Himalayas,

how it swallows mountains at each turn.
Now West Virginia’s state flower, it is

rapture in green, blanket-soft, snow-hardy,
and oh, the hummingbirds it feeds.

How lovely it must be, I think,
to be endemic to something so vast,

so lush and expansive; to understand
your place so surely, everywhere you go

begins to look like home.