On Going Back To Work, Again
By Amelia Napiorkowski
I dig up the yard
feel sorry for the wasp
that doesn’t sting me
face-paint-splattered
hair-clung-crisp
sit in the grass weed dirt
my son taught me everything
can be cleaned later
got my answer anyway
underrated
when the decision
is given to you
the ground is storm-sad
ask each plant if they’re happy
apologize for inspecting growth
demand more injury to my hands
remind myself I’m human and suck
moisture from a fistful of earth
tell the tick to stay
then lose my cool and flush it
met up with someone
who gave rhubarb seeds
like a drug deal on jug bay
pretend to make my mother’s pie
fingers prune in garden
push face into soil
make an inverted mask
muted scream
pick between brick
til my skin is rotted
til I’m stripped by the sun
Bio: Amelia Napiorkowski lives on the Chesapeake Bay with her husband, son, and stepdaughters. Her work appears in Blood + Honey, Ink in Thirds, FLARE Magazine, and elsewhere. She is a writer-in-residence with Yellow Arrow Publishing and a reader for WayWords Literary Journal.
Personal website: amelianapiorkowski.com
