Dirt   

by Karah Stokes

 Karah Stokes reads 

Dirt



in RealAudio format.
     

   
I’ve learned to love the things that live in dirt: 
the skinless worms that glide on satin guts,
the many-legged things the world won’t see,
the starlight in the virus-stricken leaf.
I’ve set white stones against the heat 
for filaments that seek the dark,
lips’ purple velvet, swollen, curved,
crisp pleated leaves that, watered, yield their scent.
The roots are like strong fingers that don’t ask.
Things do what they’re made for. If you help
they’ll sing of mint. But not for you. 
Strong fingers yield their curve. Don’t ask.
If not for you, the world won’t see.

      Able Muse

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