Settling
By Dorothy Segovia

At 5am the first thing I do after the heater is on,
after the kettle is boiling,
is sit under the warm halogen lamp and read “Home Composting Made Easy.”

I’ve done this before: got excited about compost.
It’s easy because the book is cute and narrow.
The words are printed in cartoon font as if all I need to be happy
is fertilizer made from leftover trimmings and fallen brown leaves.

I write ‘compost bin’ on my list followed by ‘push lawn mower.’
Apparently, magnolia leaves need to be chopped
in order for the mulch to breathe properly.

I cover the word breathe with my yellow highlighter.

I have used the type of bin I want twice before:
one season when house sitting for England Anne,
and then another, during my time in Santa Cruz.
But now it’s time for me to create my own soil.

I add ‘scrap bucket’ to the list after testing the lid on the plastic pail
that once held Christmas cookies from Service Master Cleaning in Santa Barbara.

I imagine carrying the new bucket outside to the black bin in the spring.
I picture myself adding the scraps, then a covering of dried magnolia leaves
that have shaped my lean, muscled arms due to months of pushing the lawn mower.

The whistling kettle interrupts my vision and I sigh,
realizing that the vegetable trimmings
will most likely molder in the bucket for weeks
only to be hurled ferociously into the trash one pissy morning.

My tea is ready to be carried back to bed.
Though I’m not certain that there will be clean compost in the spring,
a poem is the way I begin.

I will leave a link for you at our blog and check back soon.