Nature teaches nothing is lost.
Spread between rows of beans,
last year’s rusty leaves tamp down weeds.
Coffee grounds and banana peels
foster rose blooms. Bread crumbs
scattered for birds become song.
Leftovers offered to chickens come back
as eggs, yolks sunrise orange.
Broccoli stems and bruised apples
fed to cows return as milk steaming in the pail,
as patties steaming in the pasture.
Surely our shame and sorrow
composted by years
into something generative as wisdom.
Posted by kind permission of the poet.
Dream-singers, Story-tellers, Dancers, Loud laughers in the hands of Fate— My People. Dish-washers, Elevator-boys, Ladies’…
Now I understand that there are two melodies playing, one below the other, one easier…
Blackberries hang in the darkest creases of the trellis, each dimpled to bursting. The black-eyed…
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