dont worry she says you'll be home soon.
but I suspect she may be lost, herself.

her hands smell like basil and cigarettes;
she is in her garden digging
and digging

I wonder where she's going but she corrects me
and calls her hunched and fervent endeavor building. 


what I ask.
salvation! she exclaims

and she pitches forward, head and heart first
her small hands deep into the dirt --