There are tomatoes dropping off the vine
And the mint spills over the edge of the metal garden bed begging to be tamed just a little
They say it’s too hot for anything but closed curtains and noisy ceiling fans that spin all day
But I bask in the beating heat of a sun
This what makes things grow
Hands in the dirt
Shoulders as red as the Peggy Martin roses I hope will cascade along the trellis someday
I can be useful in this place
So I keep going
Knowing that my hands have had a little part in what happens here
when in there
I feel powerless
This is just another season of life where I am unsteady and have so many half started and unfinished things
So I watch things grow in the only steady silence that speaks to me
and I pray it moves me to grow a little too
but not like that
never again like that
when I only grew into grief or pain or self loathing
Too small and too big
I fit into nothing and everything
In between and spilling over
Like when the tomatoes are too green to be harvested
and the mint needs to be cut back
I know I spend too much time
thinking of how I am unfit for all of this
and dreaming of what I’d like the world to be
what I’d like to be
where I’d like to spend what’s left
and forgetting I am certainly closer now
than I ever was

ellis Caulder vale.

#thebloodandthebones