She wears the colors of roses
And apricots blushing in the sun
And mud
And grasses in all phases
Green, new, lush
Beige, dry, stickery
White, bleached by the sun
She feels the tiniest sticker
In her ample backside
The gentlest nibble of ants
Letting her know she has entered their space
She loves these penetrations
Their sting creating tiny orgasms in her skin
She tends to the garden
With a wild hand
Listening to the wisdom
Of the elements
The ecosystem
The ancient ones whose bones
Have long ago dissolved into the soil
She is slow to call anything a weed
For that would assume she knows better
Than the wind
And the birds
About where seeds ought to fall
She is very clear that she must eat
And have medicine
And feed her family
Her community
So some plants become compost
To feed the plants that will feed her
And the ants
And the aphids
And the gophers
And the moles
All of the creatures have important jobs
And take their share of the harvest
She plants hawthorn bushes
Along the edge of the garden
Letting the city know
This is where the wildness begins
This is where the medicine grows
The hawthorn helps her blood
Have clear passageways
To nourish every part of her body
And soul
That she may pulse with life
Bright enough to create
The exact flavor of medicine
She is here to deliver
The sounds of the city
Mimic the pulsing of life
Inside this medicine zone
But even the motorcycles
Do not rumble as loud as her heartbeat
Do not shake the ground
As boldly as her footsteps
That though soft and silent
Send the rapturous ripples of her thighs
Undulating into the roots of the trees
And as she squats and stands
Up and down with her gardening dance
The waves of her womb’s closeness to the earth
Pulse wisdom prayers
Through the root network of the plant realm
Pumping her ecstatic elixir of love
Into the veins of the world
Breathing Mother Earth’s breath
Into her own womb
Replenishing the ingredients of this elixir
Nourishing an eternal flow
Up and down her thighs move her
Pumping love
Through the garden
Into the world