There’s a book that hasn’t been written
There are children I didn’t have
There is life that hasn't been lived
And I’m responsible for that
There are places of magnificent beauty
That my eyes will never see
There are dreams yet unrealized
And that is all on me
But the rain it comes and the rain it goes
And I breathe another day
I ask myself why it matters
And is there a better way
Why are there so many children
And why do lovers make more
Why does the Earth keep spinning
As if there’s a reason to keep spinning for
Today as I create this poem
I’m walking in the rain
Collecting worms for my compost
And to keep from going insane
Why does each worm matter to me
When so often I feel that I don’t
There may be answers to my questions
But to look for them I won’t
So I’ll keep walking and keep looking
For each worm that comes my way
And hope that they help me compost my thoughts
And not just my organic waste
© Ruby Neumann
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Poet's Note:
Written June 15, 2023
One of my favourite activities in the spring and summer is "worming". When we have a significant amount of rain, the earthworms leave the earth and find their way onto paths of the concrete jungle I live in. I go with a pail, water and a fork and collect as many worms as I can find and give them a home in my compost. I figure it is a win-win situation for both of us. I get my compost worked down and they get fed for the rest of the summer instead of dying a horrid death on the street. Some days, like today, the water soaked streets find me with my worming pail for therapeutic reasons.
When I am done my walk, I look in the pail and see how the worms have twisted themselves together, much like my thoughts and questions do in my mind. Big ones, little ones... all messed up together. Maybe there is no separating them, maybe all I can do is dump them in the compost of life and let them do their work.
