Self-Portrait as Compost
Beneath the surface find warmth,
the fruit of decay and mastication,
of layered mixes and intermingled
juices. Disintegrated or whole,
still I strive to speak. Bits of me
meld, to be absorbed slowly; I
process and am processed: here,
within the pepper bush’s deep red
berries, there among the dianthus.
Scattered, deliberately placed,
having been, I shall emerge again,
forever changed, limitless, renewed.
* * *
“Self-Portrait as Compost” was first published in Issue 125 of Right Hand Pointing. Thank you to editors Dale Wisely, Laura M. Kaminski, F. John Sharp and José Angel Araguz for taking this piece.
O at the Edges 
Savoring the last 2 lines, contemplating my son’s 46 years “here” as but one emergence, hence now composting into his next emergence. With luck, my next emergence will be somewhere near his next emergence and we can joke about silly things again.
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I like the idea of being composted and used, to encourage life, after death.
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Nicely done. So peppers can muse like Scarecrow
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Ha! Apparently they can. 🙂
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Just finished reading Robert Olen Butler’s book on writing where he talks quite a bit about the dream state and composting as an essential part of writing….the forgetting and allowing the subconscious to take care of all that’s being consumed. The compost pile grows. Best to turn it occasionally so it cooks evenly, LOL.
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The subconscious definitely directs my writing. I seldom have any idea what I’m writing about until I’m well within a piece. I just hitch a ride…
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Right there with you on that.
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