An ode to compost

Today I lugged a week and a half’s worth of 

compost to the garden.

It was an awkward burden to carry 

as the pail, laden to the brim,

            nearly overflowing, 

            kept banging into my leg,

            the tip of the bucket and the banana peel 

                        hanging over the edge 

repeatedly 

met the grass green fabric of my pants. 

I felt lopsided as I walked

for though I would consider myself to be quite strong, 

the weight 

of all those eggshells, avocado peels and pepper stems 

really               

    pulled              

    me                   

down. 

And I had to shift the burden, 

            left to right to left to right 

            then left to right again.

As I wobbled down the path I thought about how it was 

that this jumble of food waste would, with time, 

transform itself into a rich, dark dirt.

This pondering left me a little 

stumped and humbled,

But humbled, I dumped out my load, 

the contents of which I can’t fairly romanticize.  

 

And as I rinsed out the pail, 

I saw a crow 

            flap away, 

            beak clamped firmly around a tortilla

someone had placed in the bucket.