display | more...

her fingers push through the plants
taking them from a
happy, simple life
in the soil.
soon they themselves will meld with the dirt
as their veins are consumed
by worms
and other creatures that hide in the soft,
mysterious underworld.
from birth
we are nurtured and fed
in death,
we nurture, and our bodies will feed.
from the earth we came,
so to the earth we will go.

humans are nothing more than trees.
instead of leaves of gold,
we have hair that rests on our heads
and sings in the wind.
instead of bark that is home to millions of
tiny creatures
that possess wisdom beyond our years,
we have skin
that may someday cradle a growing
human being.
my grandmother's fingers will always remind me of
a willow tree,
with their crooked knuckles and knots
and veins that run through her hands
like the long, wispy branches
of the willow
that gently fall to the ground.

she says that her garden is her church.
she knows her flowers as well
as her family,
their nuanced voices, textures, and expressions
as the seasons change.
she draws them carefully from
the ground
patiently watching as they enter into
full bloom
as a mother watches her child
grow into a teenager
and later into an adult.
in death she will collect them
to cherish their dried, crinkled leaves.
from the earth we came,
so to the earth we will go.