a slow sinking into
dirt
fingernails touched ground, now stuck with those motes
hard to ignore at dinner with no soap and water
tastes funny when chewing on fingers absently
in spotty shade, blinking to sunlight
under mimosa’s tiny artistic leaves
when you are not that old--green hands
from ruining branches and raining green petals everywhere.
crabapple tang in mouth, in eyes, cry it out,
thinking about your dead dog for that reaction.
catch gnats out of your face,
open hands to sick legs and what color is bug juice again?
be kinder with the grasshoppers,
they make a bigger mess when crunched
plus they’re hard to find, and pretty, like magic with a bark casing.
khaki shriveled grass stuck to whichever clothes, your mother
would have reminded you not to get them grass-stained;
leaf batons swirling slowly to earth dropped by tree majorettes.
brown fingernails on concrete
(whoosh)
tiny rocks feel tough, patterns in pink and red on the skin
dirt smells and who wants that in their nose all day? so hard to get out
then sonically
hearing the om
with lists of noises that spill, swizzle, or otherwise run all together--they swap around
to an unbearable hum inside your head
why is it so loud
when you are unable to speak?