(A poem I wrote while starting seeds with my toddler)
I love the feeling of seed starter dirt. All loamy and grit.
Pulling apart tiny seeds so small they fit inside my fingernail tip, this might be a meal come late summer.
I tell my boy, Dig into the dirt. Feel it on your tiny fingertips. This is the mother.
I show him how to put roots down into the ground for Tomorrows supper, that warmth in your belly, all starts with dirt under the nails.
A Hermitess 