Monthly Archives: March 2012

Picking Apples

Grandma and I went picking apples
When we found the worm
She plucked it with her thumb and forefinger
Then it started to squirm

She looked at me and then the worm
Her bonnet touched the sun
Tipped her head and asked of me
“Why do you look so glum?

From the dirt, there came the worm
And from the dirt came man
Yet both we lie, in both our hearts
In her precious hands

Our Mother Dirt, to whom we pray
The one who sews our seeds
To Mother Dirt we must oblige
To give, not only reap.”

I looked at her, a smiled had formed
Across her fragile chin
Then she dropped that worm of hers
Back to Dirt and Kin
Then she dropped that worm of hers
Back to Dirt and Kin

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This

This is not my book
These are not my words
Can we start over?
Can we begin again?

They took me
The aliens
Into their ship
Where I saw Creation

These are not my hands
But alien hands
But not my hands
I used to fiddle

Can we start over?
Not my words
But alien words
On alien tongues

I used to fiddle
On alien worlds
Wrote songs in a book
But this isn’t my book

This is not my book
These are not my words
Can we start over?
Can we begin again?