We Are Needed Here
Here is how it works:
cut the grass in front of your house
every week and a half.
Skim the top layer of grass,
guiding the motorized blades
across the still-growing surface.
As with any ritual performed
to routine, our body starts to beg
for it. Soon enough, we drape
our actions with purpose.
To speak of housework, of chores,
we use the language of necessity.
We must cut the grass, we have to.
We are needed here. The land requires
our touch; our hands ache for the blade.
Beautiful poem Hannah!
ReplyDeleteAnd it is with those words of command that each one of us live, pretending we must act this or that way, or else... life would go on without us.
mmm and there's nothing like the smell of fresh cut grass :)
ReplyDelete