Chipped nails choked with scraped grit.
Blisters swell unfelt, then burst;
a wet revelation on shaft of spade.
Weeds deftly parted from precious roots,
left in bins to rot
and someday feed the plants whose food
they recently plotted to rob.
Working around worms whose blind cycles
play their part in our survival,
digesting, evacuating, aerating the earth.
Shrubs catching my hair,
tangling it, taking loose strands as souvenirs.
Thorns scratching, blood dripping as I squeeze
between close neighbours, secateurs
gripped tight in my hand.
sure of my skill, I amputate weak limbs, lending health
to good wood.
Chipped nails, burst blisters, tangles and scratches
might not sound like life in paradise
yet it is my recipe
©Jane Paterson Basil