dirt fell from her shawl

as she stood on my porch

with her toes spread stiff, saying

“so I could smell the water

you know, in the creek.

and I could hear silver dollar turtles

turn a clot of clay into a blip of breath

hear them crack and crawl

and I got hungry for that

like how sometimes you need to eat

what somebody jingles in your ear,”

she barked into song-

“you and betty crocker can bake! something happen

so i’m back. abody again.

can i use your shower

and dig in your pantry?”

“um,” i said, my eyes glued to hers

which hadn’t blinked, covered in death’s film

“sh-should– do you want me to call someone?”

what if her grieving family got her back?

“no,” she said, “i’m changed.”

and so she took a shower with her topsoil on

and came out smelling

like spring rain