Putting hands to soil and nourishing land made me different and made me new. okras is a poetic exploration of death and rebirth, crafted while working in fields day in and day out, shedding a self while cultivating a new one. I let the  be my mirror, and their graceful reflections show me the way.

there are parts of me that wish to die here

where green subverts bad

where burgundy and other hot colors

radiate down from hill country

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at times i am nothing

unfertilized heat

hold dirt

no know what i may become

know nothing

but root

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yet still 

a seedling is sign of new birth

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in time i watch stems come up from my hands

in their beginnings they are weak

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roots settled 

sometimes flopping over

perhaps we are past that now

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by time when seedling emerges

the roots are down and stuck in something

else

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hands free

risen / resting

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that part is over 

and life has already begun