When My Bothered Body Screams
Soaked in warm water overnight, brown
ovals and white ovals (two small bowls) have swollen.
Plumped for soil. Primed for sprouting.
With hoe, I drag a groove two inches deep
and make six rows. With garden hose
I fill the troughs with water, sprinkle in
natural fertilizer. Then I drop the beans,
one variety at a time, one every six inches,
and catch myself counting. Counting.
I’ve already counted the days to beans
so they will be ready to pick and can before
that camping trip. Now I count hoe strikes
necessary to cover the beans, and hoe tamps
to hold the soil firm during beans’ first rain.
While I am scattered seeds, un earthed.
4 thoughts on "When My Bothered Body Screams"
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Melva, I get a hypnotic and ominous vibe from this poem. Something terrible seems to be happening, or about to happen,. The counting seems like a kind of self-calming. Oh dear lord.
You are a very perceptive reader. I’m not usually a counter.
I get this. I’m a counter and I also love the order rows of beans bring my life.
I never counted so much until just the last 10 years or so.