Posted on February 1, 2011. Filed under: Extra Stuff! |

One of the many things that I love about my husband is that he composts. He built a wooden box behind the garage, filled it with soil, some worms, and we were suddenly small-scale urban farmers! In the height of summer, the composter digests watermelon rinds, orange peels, wilted flowers, moldy bread, and coffee grounds. When the balance is right, the composter smells mellow, like summer itself. When it is not, the stink makes its way through the neighborhood and my husband blushes and apologizes. 

Here’s my sensory poem about the delicious backyard compost my husband and I make each spring and summer (and a little bit in the fall): 


Succulent fruit, vibrant vegetables, crinkly flowers with coiled leaves

Each chosen carefully from the Farmer’s Market on a summer morning the week before

Now cook together under the sun

Mixed with the sweet grass clippings, stout worms, clots of coffee grounds you so carefully steamed through the espresso maker

The smell is undeniably rich, luxuriant, verdant

Later, while the worms sleep through the snowstorm I will breathe in and pretend I can smell and taste the greenness and wish for these summer mornings


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