Clearing the Garden
Scott Owens
We are all tired and dirty,
our hands thick with digging,
backs wet with bending and rising,
eyes red from sweat
pouring in at the corners.

All day we have pulled up vines,
swung blades across tender necks
of plants, felt the strength
of years pulling back.

We want to make a place
that shines with flowers,
reeks of ripened fruit.

All day we have broken pink flesh
of roots, pulled the threads
that hold things together.

The work blisters up in our palms.
Tools splinter from rough handling.
We have done all we will do today.
It could never be enough.

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