Ode to a Hoe

What begins with this singular L? New worms, certainly, from the splitting of their parent self. Whole new cities of aerobic bacteria. Stones from rocks. Sprouts of pigweed, lamb’s-quarters, purslane, dock: seeds that had lain dormant for decades until the hoe stirred them into life. This italic L spells hills for yams, channels for irrigation water, a level bed for flowers. Its thick tongue uncovers an instant palate. Luh, it says. Luh luh luh luh. The shocks travel up the aching arms.