Window Box

If we wanted 

sugared carrots at dinner 

we needed only 

cover our bodies 

in mud. 

This was back 

when the soles of 

my feet turned 

black for the whole summer & 

I would be nude, 

not even 

shoes on, in 

the marshes 

tripping over sticks for 

the soft 

clays along 

the stream bank & 

back home we 

would bake the clay & 

watch it 

crumble 

in the oven. 

In the shower 

I do not

scrub my fingernails & 

the faucet stings 

in the flap 

of skin on my big toe 

containing brown & 

so much life. I 

crank open 

the casement & 

lean so 

far out mother fears 

but I only wanted 

to see the marigolds, & 

the fertilizer 

below

in the window box 

with that false rock & 

that spare key.