The Hearth
 The Table

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 The Surroundings
 The Words

I squat with knees rested
upon the brown and fertile earth
and trace a circle with bare hands,
quenched in the musty softness
I trace a circle shallow and round
and scoop away its center,
rub thumb to forefinger,
send shards falling
like crystals of kosher salt
flavoring the mud warm flesh.

Then, gathering, patting gently
the scattered soil
back into the hollowed roundness
so all that remains
is a barely visible dimple
where water will soon puddle and pool
and coax the tiny possibility, this seed
into life unfurled.
- Erin Wade