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
I am an expressive expander with a passion for plants & wellness, inspiring positive change through genuine connection. I am a communications and digital marketing strategist who believes that success is the result of unwavering authenticity, epic project management, real relationships, and insightful reflection. I am an applied cultural ethnobotonist and caretaker of plant medicine creating deeply respectful, loving, and healing relationships between people and their environment, their bodies, their ancestry, and their spirit.