It wasn't really for the plants,
although I talk with them quite frequently,
but for the earth that shows my hands
its gravity and dust, its stones and clay.
The darkened clods, my blackened nails,
the obliteration of my history
buried in the soft entrails
that slowly break down all the world, and me –
for this I plunged the shovel in
and tore apart old roots, and mixed the dead
with living things, and loved the stain
of green black on my palms, of Adam's mud.
Siham Karami lives in Northwest Florida, where she owns a technology recycling company. Her poetry has been published in a number of venues, including Innisfree Journal, The Lavender Review, 14by14, The Whirlwind Review, 4and20 Poetry, and Sisters magazine.