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