This poem was published in Last Leaves, October 2022

The rescued pig’s ode to his earth
My early days I prefer to forget,
rooting, rooted in the herbaceous earth.
Strong in meadowsweet mud, till sunset,
creating areas for new plants to birth.
Hog wallows, like bowls, hold muddy rain-water
thrumming with goodness for me and my brother.
Earth tastes especially sweet around plant roots.
Clay soil absorbs toxins, kind to our digestion
while the slippery, cool texture is balm to our resting,
washed down with spring rain, and native green shoots.