There is only one square of soil left.
It's not big enough for my roots.
Are my life's compost, worms, nutrients transportable?
I sprawl in the dirt.
Wholy messy, arms full of it, trying to take it with me
It's too much.
It tumbles down the front of me.
Then the sky cracks and goes dark
I stand suddenly wet, head back, mouth open
arms outstretched, choking, sobbing
I am undone
It is only this act that will heal.
I choose one type of love over another.
I choose one land over another.
I choose to go where I will be planted and tilled.
And where I can plant and till what is sustaining and real.
Good bye Chicago.