My arms hold the memory
of taking big clumps of turf by the hair,
beating them against the ground or each other,
grains of dirt flying up

My eyes hold the memory
of thick webs of roots, intricate when exposed,
after I’ve beaten the dirt off

My mind takes these images,
matches them with things in my life,
tenacity, stories, things people try to explain,
it matches them up and drops them
like clumps of sod,
to be considered later.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 5, 2023