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afternoon gardening, a poem by Chris Dean

afternoon gardening

I arch my feet, working tendons, bones and joints that seem to be slowly reshaping themselves into gnarled roots.

My hands twist and curl more daily; stiff, bulbous knuckles no longer so much fleshy fingers as knotty branches.

I pause to stretch, toes dug into earth and arms open to the sky. In the warmth of the sun, I feel the continuity of my Mothers flow through me like sweet sap.

As I joyfully sway in the wind, I smile at the thought my body isn't really aging, I'm simply becoming the Family Tree. 

Chris Dean, a writer from Indiana, began writing poetry in 2018. They were the featured artist for May at the Columbus Area Arts Council Monthly Open Mic Night. Their work was published in The Whiskey Mule Diner Anthology.

Image: Plant forms, an Impression Figure by Margaret Watts Hughes, pigment on glass, date unknown. Courtesy of Cyfarthfa Castle Museum and Art Gallery.