money, zucchini’s and me
What is it about money
that calls me to write a poem?
each letter paying the mortgage,
each word, my visa bill(s).
I go to the local farm stand
where reusable bags
stand in for guilt
(the plastic of our emotions)
I want to thank the soil
but can I truly pay for this gift?
we walk in what we eat, what we buy
what if money is zucchini
at the bottom of a bag?
layered under field strawberries
and yellow peppers
what if the true flow of currency
is in that exchange of dirt
on her hands
now
on my hands
as she hands me my change
how can I grow?
who can I become?
that I allow myself to emerge from a seed
plant ME in a garden of poems
give some of my dirt
and in that exchange
receive the bounty of this life