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Poetry

gardening

thrusting hammered metal

Down,

stomping

Down

with your heel,

a crack opens

the earth opens

eagerly

ready for new life to be turned into it.

dig.

throw heapfuls over your shoulder

without looking back.

dig.

watch as the void waits

wanting missing dirt to be

replaced

with your plantings.

and when the hole is big enough

just for you,

sit.

swing your feet over the edge and let them dangle.

the earth craves impact,

waits patiently for you to land on its land.

accepts vodka instead of water and

softens.

accepts smoke that coats the soil in ash.

mistakes pills for seeds and spores

so swallows.

and through the fog

still waits for your feet

to land on its land

and root

your toes

in it.

but you get tired of earth this needy

when you see green in the distance.

you walk away,

occasionally come back

to spit on the dirt

and ask it to sprout for you,

before your eyes.

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by alporter

Hopeless romantic, infatuated by food, self-proclaimed nap queen. About to graduate college and still learning how to love myself.

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