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From the archives – Organic — Kathryn Good-Schiff



We lived eleven miles out
across the arroyo
beyond the cattle gate
on a deeply rutted road
impassable in April’s rain.

We dug and weeded.
We seeded and transplanted.
We pruned. We planted according to the moon.
We harvested, watered, fertilized, turned.
We fucked. We argued.
Some of us screamed.
Some of us smashed glass and drove away.
One left by bus, abandoned his belongings
in his orange tent.

A red Buddha laughed at the end of the driveway.

from Autumn Sky Poetry 10 — by Kathryn Good-Schiff

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim


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