Tuesday, April 16, 2019


On the first warm morning
she’s kneeling in the dirt,
smiling and humming
like she does making bread.

Grandma’s planting tulip bulbs
that are almost the same color
as her own worn knuckles.
Watch how her hands work

the dark mounds of soil
in that dirty confusion
of bulb and knuckle,
knuckle and bulb.

from Relatively Speaking: Poems About Family

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