05/12/2026
~• My New Garden •~
I scraped the surface of my garden this year.
Did away with the top layer of dirt that held all the long established vegetation that I no longer needed.
Fruit that grew sour in my stomach, taste after taste after hopeless taste.
It worked for so long.
Then it became a hinderer, instead of a healer.
And I was covered in dirt from the labor
But I dug until it was bare.
I planted new seed.
Some of them died.
Some grow tenderly.
None are flourishing just yet.
I stand at the edge of my garden these days, and I pace.
I ask, “Why the hell don’t I have anything to eat?”
It is a lean thing starting over.
And so a lean year it has been.
You can’t berate a garden into growing any faster.
Life and Death are as subject to time as I am.
Patience is something I have never been good at.
Somehow I know that time is a farce.
A ruse to give the illusion of brevity.
But damn if the ruse isn’t a good one.
And damn if I’m not always laboring my breath under that running-out-of-time feeling.
What shall I breathe if not air soaked with the stain of urgency.
Is there air otherwise?
This gnawing hunger, leaves me almost skeletal.
But damn if the very garden that starves me, saves me.
The tender shoots of new life speak
We are doing our best, they say.
We must have time.
We need space to spread and grow and dive our roots into the Great Mother.
Yes, I say. Of course we are.
Of course we must.
Of course we do.
And I had stopped pacing for my feet were stuck with the roots that finally gotten the chance to grow I the sacred pause.
And my lungs had stopped cutting through the time-soaked air, for they didn’t burn the way they always have.
And my stomach had ceased its incessant rumbling,
For I am finally nourished.
