i’m kicking off national poetry month as well as i know how. had one poem published by an online lit journal, read some Sylvia Plath, and wrote a poem in a sitting that i feel confident about a future form. (yeah i know dirt is the only thing i write about thanks)
nothing serene about being supine:
the interior turning, like well-oiled gears or
pitchforking organic matter over itself
to encourage the hot. nothing supine
about a compost box. about dirt.
about the seeds you will put in the dirt.
requiring: care. requiring: water.
requiring: weeding. requiring: sun.
tell me, do you, and how do you, ignore
the gut churning that comes
from consuming non-plant matter
(animal matter) ?
tell me, do you, or don’t you, crave
green with every meal, greens
like kale or spinach or broccoli which
when balanced with grains and protein
will help forgotten parts of your body
after my cat died
my body stopped feeling hunger.
some other part of me knew to eat anyway
so went and bought sugar snap peas.
for two weeks, more
just the sweet snap of pods. just
drinking enough water. just leaving
ample space for grief.