acts of guerilla compassion

november and i am
barefoot and bare-legged (with skirt)
plucking collard and kale leaves from
the beds in south garden
_______

angela, whom i’ve never met
sends deep gratidute
for my act of guerrilla compassion this winter
and although this exchange could have happened

without the internet this does feel like
one moment of magic that the internet
has made possible

_______

sole and i rub an oil blend of
wild orange, clove, cinnamon, eucalyptus, and rosemary
on our feet, our necks plus
a drop under our tongues
and i thank her for reminding me
that i have a body
and this is what it feels like
to welcome myself back in

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Filed under poetry, writing

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