Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: August 26.17

Dill feathers

butterfly tickles

dill seeds

crock of pickles

dill bones

pinwheel spindled

tale of life

ripening, dwindled.

 

 

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Connections: August 13.17

My family’s in the garden

the past grows ever green

my mom is in the phlox

most surely, though unseen

her dad in the tomatoes

my green-thumbed Grandpa Mauck

son of North Carolina

whose hills rolled in his talk

Grandma O’Hern in moss roses

her summer’s tried-and-true

her son, my dad, in marigold

(the only flower he knew!)

the dill for an unknown

its air a bit of mystery

but I know it figures somewhere

in my leafy family history

I don’t come (as they say) from money

I come more from dirt

so it’s good to feel them back

in horticultural concert.

 

 

 

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Connections: July 14.17

It’s an earthen air

sagging over the dawn

musty

sweating on the lawn

popping with toadstools

and yesterday’s rain sits still

gathering the scent of soil

and a nameless farmer’s till

ghosts of crops past

rain-wafted now

old farms unburied

by summer storm plow

smells of wet summer

airy thick soup

fragrant toothsome

morning droop.

 

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