When Garden Touches

 
Soil between my fingers, 
dark and alive, 
smelling of rain 
and rotted leaves 
and something deeper – 
the metallic sweetness of iron 
and worms and centuries.
 
My palms know 
the weight of seeds, 
how they nestle 
into hollowed earth 
like secrets waiting to spill.
 
Water beads on tomato skin, 
warm from sun, 
bursting salt and acid 
across my tongue 
while juice runs down my wrist.
 
Basil crushes green 
and sharp 
between my thumb and forefinger, 
releasing oils 
that coat my skin 
with summer.
 
The earth pulls at my knees, 
stains my clothes, 
calls my hands 
back again 
and again 
to this place 
where green things push toward light 
and I remember 
what it means 
to be alive.

(2014, © Julia Delaney)

When Garden Touches (a sensory garden poem)

Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia

Rhyme & Reason

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