When the First Seed Catalog Comes
Judith Taylor Graham
All winter
we burn trash on the garden
accumulating ashes:
old magazines, drafts of letters,
cereal boxes, packaging.
The compost pile
gets egg shells, potato peelings,
piths and rinds and coffee grounds.
One dead squirrel the dogs delivered home.
Spring is that
simple day
we turn things under:
soil so rich and brown
we forget what makes it sweet
and speak of seeds
as a beginning.
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