Saturday, January 19, 2008


handfuls of brown
i am finding soil everywhere –
under my bed,
tracked through the hallway
it holds his footprints,
it holds the carrots and potatoes
in their darkest hours

damp like a body
soil fell from under his nails,
he brought it 8000 miles
from his home and we all planted there

i’ve heard people
put it in jars / dirt jams from worldwide –
a cabinet of brown preserves.


At 6:42 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

i really like this poem. i keep coming back to it.


Post a Comment

<< Home