Under the sink: mandarin peels; the pulp of Cylindra beets; carrots.
I take the pail to the compost pile every day.
I lift the black plastic sheet that keeps out the rain.
The cuneiform of worms is blissed in heat.
The year’s first cut grass glistens, steams.
This is my composting collage.
Once I lost a gold bracelet there.
Found it in the spring’s first turning.
This is my memory pile.
I remember the machete shredded stems.
I remember the stale ends of bread.
I remember the striations of my day.
© by Wendy Morton.
Used with the author’s permission.