I return to the garden
after a season
of supporting
those who must
matter most right
now. Last week, I felt
like Atlas, not quite
holding the entire
world on my back,
but convinced it
would crash down
around me if I
didn’t keep straining
and pushing and
advocating change.
It has been necessary,
exhausting work, but I
turn back now to the
business of mowing
and weeding and filling
bird feeders. By day’s
end, I will be coated
with sweat. Bits of grass,
twigs, dirt, bugs
stamped on my skin,
joiners to the cause.
And I will stink.
I will stop because
the sun is fading or
because I am hungry or
tired, but not because
the job is done.
Tomorrow there will
be more necessary,
exhausting work that
is mine to do.
© 2020 Deb Moore, All Rights Reserved
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Published by Deb
Poet, essayist, novelist, writing instructor, music lover, and general optimist.
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Deb Moore 