A crack in the gray sidewalk

A crack in the gray sidewalk,

jagged like a bad wound.

There, stubborn and thin,

a weed curls its spine upward,

not asking permission.

It’s barely taller than a cigarette butt,

but in that dull stretch of cement,

it owns the space.

Its green is a quiet fight,

threading through broken edges,

mocking the city’s hard skin.

I crouch close, watching

how the world cracks,

and something small insists.