I miss the dirt, That always managed to find its way Down the thin spacing between our shoes Layering the black shading of two tired and worked feet And those white socks, They never stood a chance Somewhere between the swing of the axe and all the thick roots Meant the earth's soil, would set up a tent And camp in our shoes The forever fields of wheat Were words we cringed at the sound, “Another wheat field you say?” It became a place where we found endless thoughts And conversations both little and deep The hoe became our best friend, the kind you've been around a little too long In the heated hours, dreaming up lunch, wondering about things, Keeping our heads down, As the dense weeds went on… far beyond our gaze I miss the compost toilets, I have lost sight of any other way And the two-minute shower, With a cool, breezy rush of wind That made you feel clean enough With a minute and a half left to spare Let’s face it, I skipped shower time, Because I liked the dirt And the beautiful women who suddenly felt no need To work on their hair, or their face Who embraced a bed with bugs in the night and spiders nearby Each night, When we could hardly keep an eye open We would laugh in our tent The funny nuances of our accents And giddy moments of deliria and joy Confused at which But simply content With a full and satisfied belly An ache in the bones, But a gratified body We would lay our head down for the night And all Was more than alright.
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AuthorKatie Elizabeth: Writer, Wonderer, Wanderer. Archives
October 2020
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