Good dirt
under my fingernails like waxing-moon eyeliner, in my nose like pepper flakes noir, between my breasts like pesto on plump bread, on my skin caught in sweaty sunscreen like bedazzle…this summer day in the yard yanking and raking and pulling and pushing and mowing and picking and scrubbing and hanging…and now there is blue-ish water, marigolds and peonies, lavender and painted rocks in a fairy garden, zucchini, cabbage,peppers and strawberries, the greens so green I can smell it…tomorrow morning my muscles will moan over the groan of my bones and I’ll find a clump of good dirt tucked in my medial canthus with the sand from the night’s dreams I may or may not remember…
typewriter on a rusted bench
awaits fresh ink, a poem
VANESSA SHIELDS 