This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

I want to be overcome, overwhelmed by the good stuff.

A cup that runneth over; I want the faucet.

The ground we sowed is breaking and out of it
comes green and edible, sweet and savory. It’s ripe
and ready and I want more.

I want more, so much more, so I can give it away.

So I can build a little table or hut or shed
maybe even a roadside library, for any one
who needs something new to read, or to eat with
their hearts: I want to be frustrated by the amount
of people who wait for my garden to grow

so I can fill them up.

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