I watch her on her knees
fingering the loam,
where slithering crepuscular creatures
scurry back to their tunneled homes.
The open earth no longer at rest,
a new year beginning here in May:
bluebells waiting in pots
as she whispers something
–what is it? —
then lays them in their holes.
Bone meal and ash,
her voice a torch
for the darkness they enter
spiraling down to bind the worlds
above and below;
and she doesn’t see me watching her,
talking to the rabbit, explaining it all,
then tilting as she walks,
perfectly happy with her bucket of dirt.
John Krumberger has published a volume of poems entitled THE LANGUAGE OF RAIN AND WIND (Backwaters Press in 2008), and a chapbook, IN A JAR SOMEWHERE through Black Dirt Press in 1999. His latest collection of poems BECAUSE AUTUMN was published by Main Street Rag Press in 2016. He has a PHD in psychology from the University of Minnesota and works as a psychologist in private practice in St. Paul MN and lives with his wife in Minneapolis.