At midday, I dug beneath damp straw
and gently ran my fingers through dirt,
and, there, in the kingdom of earth worms,
found dozens of beautiful ruby-skinned potatoes,
each one of them precious in my hands.
God knows I have longed to be found this way—
pulled out from my darkness and cradled,
held up to the light with an oooh and an ahh
and a laugh of joy, though I’m slightly misshapen,
though I’m bumpy and imperfect.
There are days when I see through it so easily,
the longing to be loved, and I simply feel the love
that always exists, the love that grows in darkness,
that is utterly unconcerned with worthiness,
that feels no need for discovery.
There are moments when I can’t imagine
I ever thought I was lost, like today,
kneeling in the dirt, marveling at the beauty
of potatoes, mud-smudged and lumpy,
knowing myself as another who belongs to the earth.
