Like MeeMaw’s aluminum coffee *** The earth percolates through all the seasons Of rain and drought and freeze, of dust and mud The ground we work gives up its annual troves
The tiller’s tines turn up old pocketknives Old nails, old screws, old bits of window glass An unfired flash cube from a party long ago Gardening is also archaeology
I excavate from the machine while sitting in the shade Decades-old fence wire wrapped around the blade