Gardening

As I dig

with bare hands;

black and swarthy

from the compost bin.

And fill the bucket that,

I then carry.

I find a worm.

I remember my mother

telling me,

that worms enrich soil.

I must have been three years old.

I have not remembered this before.

Yet I do so now,

as I plant and dig.

Hands black with soil.

Hands black with soul.

Hands black with memory.

Twenty-six years later.

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