How She Knows

How she knows she is not useless yet: Old cornstalks must be shattered right Where they stood green, to feed worms She knows are waiting in darkness.

Her hens wait too, for water, for feed, Especially for deadnettles, nipplewort, Kale and comfrey. Some hummingbirds Now arriving check the lilac for their Own nectar bottle that hung there While last spring, summer and fall Slipped past. There are wasp queens She finds sleeping in her woodpile; Her heart skips a beat as she sees Each one, for she fears them, yet Interests herself in their rest and Safety, for the good they do her garden.

Now she mucks out her barn, for Of her things she values rich mulch, almost To distraction, most. But slowly; Under beams and eaves hang cobwebs, Sacs of eggs suspended in each, waiting End of winter, not to be disturbed.

Lest she forget to serve all equitably, Every bucket of soiled barn water She carries to her trees to tip out: Something to stave off drought.

Yes, she's earned the right, she thinks, Even in this so solitary place, To call herself an asset to her friends.