Grass

At first, it looks like your dead

And I want to say, forget it

Leave you in your own grave

Of dry brittleness

Parched

Prickly

Pathetic

Prematurely aged

I neglected you

I projected you

I let you go

I released my need for you to be a certain way

And I think, what if I paid more attention to you

What if I give you a little more care

Would you care to grow with me

Would it be possible for you to massage my feet with your softness again

Could I just remember to feed you with my liquid

To just water you with my essence

For just a few minutes

To quench your thirst

For just a small amount of effort

Perhaps I could remind you

To bring you back to the beauty that you already are:

Deeply rooted

Strong as crab grass

Persistent as the retriever running with the ball above you

Resilient as the worms tunneling beneath you

How nice it would be to cartwheel into you again

To feel the cool strength of you between my fingers and toes

To see the suppleness of your varying blades swaying in the wind
To see you alive in your rich saturation

Drinking in your sweet nectar with the rising sun
To smell you mingled in the morning’s precipitation

Come back to me 
Come back to me my lovely, lovely green grass

Written during the 2015 California drought