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The Forage MAG
January 12, 2010
we used to sit crosslegged in bliss
clad in overalls
foraging abundant wriggling tendrils
under cover of oak, we dig deep
earth squeezed between our pudgy toes
discovering the sought-after
held aloft by fingers caked in mud
until a sudden decade races by
today we dig deep for meaning
foraging for life
the monotonous minute hand speeds
hours to days, years to a lifetime
dreading until our internal clocks
suddenly tick the last tock.
© Meagan Y., Tigard, OR
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This article has 1 comment.
Judy said...
on Feb. 15 2010 at 5:25 pm
Heidi - Great poem. While reading it, I was mentally in your front yard with you and Lauren!
