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Poem-a-Day

Sowing Sulfur

Sowing Sulfur

 

I'm scattering pelletized sulfur

with the same gesture I

would make were I sowing rye,

cupping roughly the same measure

 

in hand and aiming only vaguely for

the furrows Quill is making.

He takes more care than I am taking

in straightly steering the tractor.

 

We keep passing one another, 

he leaning over to keep the tire

in its track, as if an invisible wire

ran from one end of the field to the other,

 

while I, less exact, am sowing

a crop that will never sprout

but that the potatoes can't live without.

What I'm doing will get them growing.

 

I am as pelletized sulfur is to seed,

here only to disappear

and help something green appear,

something people actually need.

 

 

 

 

 

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