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  • Every now and again,
    especially in the Spring,
    I remember.

    How the worm slimy wiggles
    and how drops of water cling to your petals.

    How the breeze picks up the loose strands
    of hair to tickle the back of my neck and how
    the rich soil warms in my hands as I
    break it apart to cloak new roots.

    I recount how to plant seeds.
    Good, strong seeds in a forgiving ground.
    I'll pat them down, let water tuck them in tight,
    then I'll say a good morning and good night prayer
    all rolled up into one right over top of them.

    I recall how to pinch and rip a weed from the ground,
    saying "Not here, goddammit, no further!"

    In the Spring, I remember all these things
    and how to let all these things
    happen to me.

    But today was the day the earth
    tilted and turned just enough and
    remembered me.
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