Fallen To Earth
By Sandy McPherson Carrubba
I see my father's shovel
bounce off the garden soil.
And watch brown mud ooze
from the open wound.
Earth's lifeblood as
it dribbles and smears.
Then, my father places
seeds in brown soil
and covers them over.
For months, soft earth
over possibilities.
Invisible happenings.
At last, tiny green sprouts
born to flower.
I watch father's life
bloom, then, fade.
See mud, like fine dust
slip too quickly
through my fingers.
How soon he dropped!
Placed beneath the flowers,
like a seed, waiting to
germinate again.
My father works the soil.
He becomes the soil.