Ninety-nine and only faded battlefields behind me: grumbling tanks, tire treads, bodies laid on broken pavement.
My hands are worn from turning soil and stone. Sunburns. Digestion. These cocktails of rye, garlic and hot peppers have deafened, blinded and numbed me.
Traveled by boats to bring ten lives into the world, now seven left for us to hold.
I shrink, except my growing tumour.
Boards to ground, the barn long crumbled and smoldering heaps of food scrap coax the spring laden creek bed to choke and gurgle. My grape seeds struggle another year to take root in these unforgiving hills.
This poem was originally published at The Good Men Project on April 22, 2013 –> 100 Words on Love: Ninety-Nine
Trevor Ellestad is a writer, an herbalist, and an ex-yoga teacher who spends his days creating plant-based magic at Vega. Trevor keeps a tidy home with his partner and their as of yet un-named spider monkey of a kitty cat in Vancouver, BC. At night, Trevor likes to surround himself with plants and obsess over the seemingly simple lives of cats and robots.