In the garden, I am

the number one helper


he’s the vegetable veteran,

hands blending into the soil.

My fingers clumsy

and pale, the onion bulb to

his roots. He follows,

instructing and inspecting

with as many “that a girls”

as beans in my bucket;

the weight driving the handle

deeper into my palm.

When he opens a pea pod,

with hands that will never be clean,

I don’t hesitate.

“Everyone eats dirt in their

lives. It’s good for you.”


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