Work It Out
I cram the mower in deep under the
I need to clean things out. The two trees just over
who year in year out vote deciduous
Once again their last year’s half-rotted leaves
set in strata by the clever fingers of winter rain
are tight-packed up against the skinny twiggy
Dense stacks of leaves all but glued together.
I can undo them. I slam the machine forward.
The whole row shakes. The switchy hedge stems
agitate in timid anger. The lawnmower roars
hands me a bonus:
a flourish of wood chips sprays across the dirt
the fallen remains of a rotted branch I didn’t see
and I wouldn’t have avoided if I had
I’m in that kind of mood.
I give the mower another shove.
2 thoughts on “Work It Out”
I like the way you imbue emotion into the cycles of destruction and creation.
Thank you. This was from when I did a big cleanup in our yard (the poison ivy experience being part of it) and for some reason I just felt I had to get things in better order that had decided on their own how to manage things. I was surprised how it became a personal mission to make things “clean”.
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