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Working In The Garden

by Barbara Brooks

Roots, land-locked lobsters, pull free
from the soil. Legs intertwine
and bodies are two layers deep.

Clods of dirt drip
loose and drop into the bed.
Weeds, winter’s barnacles, cling
to the fragile tendrils.

Nestled into new spaces, green
antennae catch the breeze.
In the spring, they will become iris.

Posted in Poetry

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