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Thinning out seedlings:
the harvest will yield enough
for bird and table.
The child wants to save
every plant we’re tugging out.
I talk about odds
and tithes. “God’s greedy,”
she declares. I reply,
“Aren’t we also?”
She frowns at the limp
green and white scraps on her palm.
She hasn’t seen yet
how compost is more
than a heap of waste and flies.
Hasn’t yet learned
how most of our lives
are a mélange of garbage
and triumphant blooms
—how incessantly
we measure ourselves to see
if we measure up.
This poem appeared in the Summer 2013 issue of UU World (page 18).