The thought of dirt has always allured me.

My kindergarten teacher said she once

would eat the dirt beside her mother's patch

of flowers. At the time an image of

this would let way to laughs and even smirks

of my superiority. But that

was when I thought I knew earth. I thought

I saw the greats and worsts and okays, that 

the flower standing top the dirt

was easy to have, and it's mindless how

a person had a thing less than a patch

of flowers, petals colored endlessly.

But now I see my teacher's ways:

She never could just have a rose,

a lily, tulip, or lilac.

And neither could I, not

a lily, tulip, or

lilac. we never could.

It's all we have,

the dirt. It's all

we can provide.

The dirt

is all

we can.