Weird, wonderful, chemical—
It’s invasive; pervasive; far-flung.
What a thrill to be part of it, in it, of it,
What a joy to be in love with Compost.
Squashy Compost,
Why do you tease me with talk of species?
We both have apple cores
And orange peels
And tomato foundations.
Your particles are looser than mine,
It’s true,
But loosely knit is still knit, after all.
We’re threaded together by strands of twine and bark.
Lumpy Compost,
Let me in!
I wish to bathe in you (despite all pretenses)—
I wish to bury myself in your twiggy hair,
Your rotten eyes,
Your muddy mouth.
Weird, wonderful, Compost. Dear beautiful garden!
Worming through my brain, nosing into my heart, crawling on my skin.
O garden,
I salute thee—
For tender beds
And tough green strawberries
And tenacious peppers.
O campus, I pine
For emeralds and poppies and diamond stars—
Constellations of raisins
Guiding us West.
Green garlic and
Young kale and
Baby arugula was I
When we met,
Dear Compost.
You’ve mashed me,
Turned me,
Forked me,
Fed me
With avocado pits
And artichoke hearts
And asparagus tips.
And we all have apple cores
And orange peels
And tomato foundations.
So we worship ourselves and lay thanks onto the Compost.
Thanks, Compost,
For being the great connector,
The regenerator
That splices generations.
Love you, Compost,
For so graciously accepting our waste
And so easily sleeping on our crops.
Rot renews—
Decay delivers—
Compost comes through.
And—O Compost—
As you sit steaming
I die dreaming
Of the day we can eat together.
