Between your nails, curved

along the bend of your skin,

soil from the earth, once

blighted by smog screens,

since enriched by nutrients

you mixed yourself, for this

no man’s land, for this

replacement of manmade

dead with biological labor,

seeking those agricultural

circuits, neural inheritances

from ancestors back, when

your great-grandmother

worked a farm, when your

grandmother’s orange trees

bloomed, so you have this

backyard, firing synapses

to rebuild a greenthumb,

an oasis, to rediscover

a sense of home.


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