Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

October 22, 2019, 02:00:44 PM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
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Author Topic: Garden  (Read 12 times)
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« on: October 12, 2019, 02:56:51 PM »

Ever hopeful that something may grow, I plant seeds each year. Mostly tomatoes. Too many really. And I can't kill the little helpless brood that I hatch, at least not willingly. I can't weed out and thin the herd. I smell the green, tomatoey smell on my hands when I transplant them, dirt revealing each fingerprint and unfiled nail like a Ansel Adams print, a kind of halo beauty surrounding a joyful job done with expectancy. I stand up, at least my mind is telling my body to do that. Twinges in my back, do I really feel my foot after kneeling so long at this altar? I can taste the dirt and mulch and spring in the air, maybe I won't get up so fast, but the moisture has crept through my pants, invading my dry warmth. The cages tower over the little expatriates, transplants- inverted Eiffel towers above. now all I can do is wait, and work on standing up
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