death doesnt care about who should live. it simply throws its rotting body over the nearest passerby.
as when i sit with burried feet, one hand still in the earth, and the other with baby roots dangling naked. and i am feeling the heavy press of satisfaction on my shoulders, as they lean forward into my arms, as they push forth into my hands, as they press fingers into fertile soil, and pull but another little life up, that wasnt named enough to be known, or known enough to be named, as worthy of life in the garden.
3 comments:
good to hear your voice.....is the air safe to be gardening?
poor lil weeds
remember that organic gardening workshop we took, super long ago, like maybe freshwoman year, there was an instructor who took us around ucsc farm and he had curly hair....anyways, he routinely referred to weeds as "volunteers" which I've always remembered and found interesting. On one hand I'm like, aw, that's nice, they volunteer themselves to walk into the darkness so that others can have light. but on the other hand, the hand that pulls them out maybe is doing the volunteering for them. I mean, who's really deciding here?
Rereading Harry Potter 7, I'm realizing that that book has everything to do with death. I'd suggest rereading it. I feel like its really fitting in with everything that is happening right now.
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