I sit
in the cool, moist dirt
pressing my palms
to the earth.
No sound
save for the light,
sweet breeze
bringing the
smell of tomato vines
like blood and sugar.
My eyes close.
Wind slides secrets
into my ears.
I speak to it.
Ask it questions.
A hand,
presses back from the dirt.
A workers hand
comforting in it's shape.
Stout.
Strong.
I open my eyes.
Lift my hands.
Small barnacles of dirt
cling to my palms.
I put some earth on my tongue/
It tastes of iron.
Crops will grow strong.
With business finished
I stand up,
and go inside.
3 comments:
This is the companion to resurrection. The prevailing idea is one of communing with things nonhuman. I also always think that tomato vines smell like blool.I feel like this worked better in my head. I don't feel that the elements of communingwith nature, and potentially the dead are there. I made it present tense. I like the idea though.
Before I read your comment, I had a feeling that this related to yesterday's poem. I see and feel the communing with nature and it's executed well. However, if you really want the speaker to commune with the dead, there needs to be more imagery leading the reader in that direction. The only image that hints at communing with the dead is the hand pressing back, which I think you could expand upon.
I also saw the connection before I read your comment. Maybe it's because I've been working in my yard a lot lately, but I can really relate to this poem.
I really like the way this poem plays with the senses: touch, smell, taste, etc. It's very vivid. I also like the theme of communion. You're definitely on to something here.
Post a Comment