At Aukerman's Farm

At Aukermans' farm I press my
right shoulder deep into boulder
granite -- scraping away city skin until
it falls, sheets and layers on
the ground. Now I am tall
with a straight and strong back.
My stride is long, certain.
Each breath is deep and full.
My new skin prickles in the wind
and warms, supple, in the sun. I
am in my element. Fresh mint is
breakfast tea and dried cornstalks,
my table decorations. Here
a calf two days dead in the ditch by the
four trees is considered steadily,
like the gathering thunderheads. This
new body is a passionate, intimate
body. My fingers are sure and
sensual. I know every part of the day.
Know wind direction by scent of clover,
or hay. I am In my element.
My city skin still
huddles like forgotten burlap at
the base of the rock. In the night
some dog may carry it away.

Rose Marie Berger is associate editor of Sojourners.

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