Friday, April 16, 2010

PAD Day 16 - Death

Pulling Weeds
An afternoon of weeding by the neighbor’s low stone wall,
Begun in sunshine, ended in thunder and rain. We come inside for supper.
My hands smell like mustard and dirt.

Under the Russian olive
White-crowned sparrow corpse
In the foxtail grass


  1. I chose this one because it's perfect. I love the image and the smell of dirt and mustard you evoked. As Eugene Curtsinger would say, "It works."

  2. Dr. Curtsinger's is always the voice I hear in my head when I'm writing poetry. He is my eternal internal critic and mentor.