I packed a mason jar
of dirt back to Oklahoma
on my last visit home
before I became a mother.
It felt wrong to birth a child
anywhere other than
over Kentucky soil. I sat
it on the bookshelf in the
corner of our kitchen.
As it grew closer to my
due date, I moved it near
the carefully arranged
hospital bag by the
door. When I went
into labor, I forgot about
it in the rush and chaos
of new life. I remembered
when I held my fresh
baby in my arms
and I wept.