I like Dirt

I like dirt.

When I was a little girl,

 I would wander in the dirt clods

as daddy worked in the tobacco field.

 

I would dig holes in the yard.

And gather worms to take fishin’.

I would play in the brown water of the creek

that ran alongside the house,

but more probably that was mud.

No kid ever left my house as clean as they came.

 

I know that dirt is important.

The smell and the feel of dirt in spring,

when the tractor is plowing the fields for planting,

sends my spirit into metaphorical

backflips and somersaults.

 

My soul loves the smell of spring dirt.

I like the smell of dirt in the fall, too.

Sweet and musty-- full of rotting leaves

helped on its way by rain water,

fall air lets us know summer is dying.

 

I have a grand appreciation for dirt.

I don’t have time to sweep

behind kids and dogs and husband.

Mostly--dirt doesn’t interfere

with the happiness of the children.

I like dirt.

Mammaw always said we have to eat

Half a pound of dirt before we die.

I figure dirt must be healthy.

It never hurt me.

 

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

there is that part in fingerpainting that you appreciate the duty more than the outcome. Where
you really dont care what the painting is about, just that it was done and the doing of it makes you
love out loud.

this poem is a fingerpainting of sorts. A slow paced urgent language like watching sweet potatoes
or carrots grow out from the earth. I know (and remember) this dirt of liveliness and imagination.
The dirt that exposes itself to fire/ the dirt of the speed of childhood. Just marvelous.

You remain one of the more important poets of this new century Ms. Burns. And we are
forever in your debt.....dana

[Emily B]

I had forgotten this little clod :) thank you for causing me to remember

[Ronn Michael Salinas]

I hate dirt.

[Jeff Loquist]

there is definitely truth in that there dirt

[Poetic Beauty]

This reminds me of myself when I was little. I would sit out in my grammy's front yard with a spoon digging in the dirt as my grandma hung clothes out to dry. I would watch her as I made mud pies. I loved to dig for hours. As I got old I liked to go 4 wheeling in the creek. We would be so wet and muddy when we got home but never got in trouble for it. This poems is great for taking me back to my early childhood days. The flow is wonderful and I can picture all the painting you have painted with your wonderful words.

[cest la vie]

It's me again.. digging in your cedar chest..
I just returned from putting the final touches on my garden, and the dirt is still under my nails. I love it..
Like you I played hard, got dirty (ruined an Easter outfit one year by playing in a creek).
This piece is a delight to read and brought back some long forgotten memories.

[Creepy Swine Guy]

I wonder how many people are actually able to pinpoint the smell of the spring soil. how many people realize that that smell is the smell of spring. I looked it up one day, I was so infatuated with the smell of spring, that I looked it up.

Nitrogen! That's what they told me I was smelling. I call it spring. Hummmmm ... you might have inspired a poem again.

[Lily1111]

As a gardener, I too have a deep appreciation for dirt. You have captured so much in this poem.

[Mackenzie J. Burns]

Wow, this reads as if if was completely effortless to write. I love the the subject matters simplicity, I was looking for something light and fun to read and boy I found it!

[Barbara Walker]

This critique has absolutely no criticism in it, I love this poem! Love the flow, the imagery and the last few lines are perfect! Barbara