Gardening

Gardening

A large wound, open and fresh, 
Dappled by its own spittle, 
Reminds me of the rich 
Imported soil of a garden.

Moist and funky, 
A steam bath awaits 
When ground opens. 
Rivulets of murky water

Collect at the bottom 
Of each scoop; 
Warm loam appears to pulse 
With eyeless worms

That free with each dig -- 
Veiny, watery.
Open wounds give under fingers, 
Dirty nails -- fresh soil too --

Marrow laden bones 
Like thick thirsty tree roots 
Stop scalpels from sinking 
Straight through to China.