Wearing Shoes While Gardening

Blades of grass, damp

after a sunrise shower,

soak my slippers.

But the lilies have finally opened.

I pull the weeds sprouting from scattered birdseed

and bathe in the spicy-sweet scent that is tasted,

not smelled,

by hummingbirds.

Mounds of dirt, pushed

up through the clover by moles,

wedge their way into the treads

of my sneakers.

But the tomatoes are turning pink.

If left too long, the squirrels will feast.

They eye me from the Pin Oak and chatter,

while mother cardinals chastise them for their foul mouths.

Snail tracks and dew are slick

on my bare feet.

The skin between my toes smells of

fallen tomato leaves, acorn shells, and

the expandable, blind bodies of earth worms.

Bare feet are at home in the dirt and my soul

drips down to meet it.

Copyright 2019 – Laurie Marshall

This poem is being posted as part of the #100dayproject. Find out more here.