Digging In The Dirt...

Digging in the Dirt

    There was something about the smell 

Was it primal? A throwback to a different time?

When we were connected with the land. 

When we grew what we ate. 

But each shovel brought that rich smell.

Loamy. Dark. Full of nutrients.

Children often ate fistfuls of dirt

Parents wiping it out of hands and mouths

Telling them no, we don't eat this!

But the smell was too much for them

And they'd do it again

Skip the middleman

No vegetables, just the dirt

She was tempted to do it herself

What would it taste like?

Chocolate like the color?

She laughed to imagine her own children 

Seeing her on her knees digging in the yard

And instead of planting flowers 

Eating fistfuls of dirt

I learned it from you!

She would tell them, you did it first!

But of course they hadn't. 

She did it before them

Her mother did it, her grandmother...

Down the line; generations of children

Fistfuls of dirt in their mouths

Mothers and fathers in a faraway land

Digging in the dirt

Frantically wiping it away from faces

A generation of children

 Fistfuls of dirt in their mouths

Tears watered her garden

Anger hardened her heart