Baby bird in the bushes, I scooped
handfuls of dirt, the minerals the body
craved at my fingertips. Taste of metal,
the earth’s iron, hand to mouth,
one gritty girl. I was
fed by the soil. Then, a proclivity
for paper captured on film, crawling
Christmas morning in heaven,
grazing the wasteland of wrapping
paper scraps. We eat what we need.
The ground and the seed:
a forest already growing inside me.