Monday, April 20, 2009

NaPoWriMo 18


The garden out back is waiting
to be tilled. Leaves cover the rows
where tomatoes and basil once grew,
while grass sprouts through
the hard, cold ground.
You did not ask for this.
You crave the lush life of summer,
where hazy, hot, and humid
is the only language you speak.
You want to flower under the blazing sun
and make believers of us all.
It is time to compost what is dead,
time to feed what still lives under the surface:
a longing, a seed, a kernel
that delivers on the promise of bloom.
Soon, the head will unfurl,
new buds will unravel and seek the sun.
Soon, the body will lift its stem
making an easy choice
between heaven and earth.

(The last three lines are a play on the last lines from "Take Cover" by Angie Estes, Verse Daily.)

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