POEM: Amongst the Soil and Stars

Contributed by Olivia Ellisor, Literature major.

Ripe red tomatoes
Falling off the vines
Scented lightly of dirt and petrichor.

My hands digging, always digging,
(though I don’t know what I’m searching for)
Deeper into the wild Earth.

The once shiny metal
Now only reflects
The reeking sweat that rolls down my back.

Mockingbirds call to me,
Softly whispering under the dying oak tree
That I’m desperately trying to save.

My mother passed her life’s work down to me
As she turned away to face the moon
Knowing full well I can’t grow the hibiscus like she does.

I cultivate the fields beyond the horizon
Hoping to catch a glimpse of her hidden within the wheat
Searching for answers I know will never be there.

This garden, this peaceful meadow,
That only grows sunshine and daffodils,
Was made for me, was plowed and tended to like a child,
Over and over
Needing warmth and droplets of rain and sacrifice.

But I’ll never know it as it was before
Not even with the same damn potting trowel
My mother tilled the grass with.
Not even with the sun and the moon and the stars
Perfectly aligned to simulate the growing season.
Not even with all the love I can give,
It will never be enough.