Earth my church
I dig within and plant with fervor
kneeling  grasping skin wet smeared
immersed in wondrous mystery 

Yet sacrilege there needs to be 
 crushing bugs with vehemence
between gloved thumb and finger.

kmae

My Dirt

Jun 6, 2026

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joan-karcher

Very nice poem, with an interesting twist at the end, though there is sacrilege you are also creating the miracle of life =)

vircapio-gale

love it, this touches on so much with so few words, and i find myself learning about the Jain tradition of sweeping bugs aside while carefully walking (or that scene from 7 Years in Tibet when the monks distribute the labor of building a theater like so: worm- and bug-collector-saviors, and patient, patient diggers). the feeling of this 'kneeling/fervor/wet smeared/beyond control' conjures a thought of self-flagellation in the gentlest and most enriching of contexts: gardening... a cultivating of the soul as well as plants to reflect on killing pests. i also like the correlation between 'dirt' and 'sin' silently implied: very cleanly done&nbsp;&nbsp;:P thank you for such poetic produce

ahmad-cox

I love this poem. I am a lover and a digger of the earth myself.

victoria-1

I love the juxtaposition of your labour of love and the desecration of bugs, wonderful.

dieingembers

Almost sounds paganistic with the sacrifice made at the end, though my grandfather would have agreed with you he always found his garden to be a place worth praising God. Keep em' coming