2021-09-14T19:36:03-07:00April 5th, 2011|Nature|

I used to garden with gloves on

At first my skin resists
the stain of the soil.

As though it is a mistake,
an accident,
something to wipe off.

I hold my breath
as my hands are transformed
from petals
to roots.

Soon they roam the dirt
like rodents prowling for grubs.

They are a little bit wild,
released from months
of fastidiousness,
sifting the earth with such raptness
it is as though my fingers
can taste and smell.

I used to garden with gloves on
but now I see this is like kissing
your lover from inside
a plastic bag.

I look clean
but look again:

I am of this earth,
begging to be

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