Forgive Me, My Friend, If I State the Obvious



From the garden, a bushel

of potatoes; elsewhere crabgrass happens.

I’m shifting my plot, transitioning 

from a spot too shady, life

begging to begin a new.  Dirt and moon

language, dear friend, it’s all life—

the garden, the song, even the crabgrass.

It’s the dance in dirt and water that matters most. 



Melva Sue Priddy