In my garden the compost delivers sweetness to tomatoes rich as cherry juice. The dark is a sign of riches that course through the vein of every vegetable, sparkling as liquid slips down the chin, hands all sticky- oh how sublime this eating is. There is beauty all around me from the chill of summer to the heat of snow every motion is recycled each season brings the wind blowing out the old. And every year the asparagus appears, poking through the earth letting it be known we grow we grow we grow! What kind of people do we choose to be? Will we let nitrogen abide beneath the tree of life - so giving it is all that is nurturing, will we pass along this community, this web of life, from caterpillar to toad to bird to child? This is the road I have always travelled, grandpa and berries, a lane of mud, brambles that pinch and fruit that is everything fine.
poetry I have written
Anne's mediocre poetry 