A Gardeners Fall

[Bunx]

A Gardeners Fall

I spend the day
kneeling on grass.
Bruised knuckles bent back
skin tanned by dirt.

Something feels nice about it.
Going hours with a single thought,
spotting weeds that don't belong
before they grow, bind, and seed.

Cuts on my hand blend with scars
fading slowly I still recall.
Wounds caused by me, and others.
Trauma feels like a stone to shovel.

Picking rocks with my hands
then digging away the soil.
Sweat on sunned skin
cements change from then.

Then I think
it's not me I lament.

Sometimes it's takes cuts from thorns.
Planting flowers after digging up stones.
Trees knocking off your favorite hat.
Laughing in yards working with old friends.

Be open to letting shit degrade in soil.