NaPoWriMo 22 – Soil
I, too, look at earth, clumped
and crumbling between my fingers,
and see life itself. As if this
is where I belong–in the soil.
As if this is where the soil
belongs, loose and damp, and
damn if it isn’t the cleanest thing
in the forest, damn if it isn’t
the purest thing I’ve touched today.
I know nothing of gardening
or agriculture or making things
grow. I know nothing, except
that where things grow is home.
Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt was to write a georgic, which is apparently a poem dealing with practical aspects of agriculture. I know literally nothing about agriculture, despite having grown up in farm country, so this is the closest to that I could get.
Recommendation for the day: “The Tragedy of Hats” by Clarinda Harriss
Fellow NaPoWriMo participant for the day: “Drinking the Sky” by Lindi-Ann Hewitt-Coleman