her nose, it summed
us up, and the garden she built, cupped, and patted
in the backyard.
washing her hands with the soil, she inhaled.
“what do our roots smell like?”
in the background, I asked her.
of course, she can recall it, and I can recall that
we nearly married ourselves to that life, but
she never did answer me, and I forgot that
I ever wanted to know before long.