I found them on knee, on a Saturday morning,
early, digging three-pronged ginseng.
I told them to stop. And, go. And, was
only semi-polite about it.
They seemed surprised that I could arrive
there, just then, and spot
them in their leafy camo, such baggy pants,
and that I could speak a thing or two about the blond
roots (they’d broken most of the root hairs) gripped in
their pocket-buried hands, to which
red clay still clung, hopeful, that I’d get it set back
within this Earth;
It still had work to do:
this world needs holding.
This is what it is like to suddenly
realize that you are inhabiting
The forest had called out
to me by a name
©2014-2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World"
Published by Talking Waters Press
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