Grass

poem about sod

Pricks fingers,
Hides wild Pokémon,
Licks ankles,
Rashes skin,
Creeps with crawlies,
Fills our fists when we need ammo,
Grows like poems,
Some longer than others,
All break the surface,
All draw blood,
All conquer castles,
Through the cracks.

¹art by Sashank Krothapally

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Poetry Tip of the Day!

I started a journal to prove I was doing something with my life. My logic was: if I force myself to fill up a page every day, I will do enough to have something to write about. I wrote my first entry in April of 2022, and last month, I ordered my 2026 journal. Filling pages is now the least of my problems, and it’s changed my life.

You see, I am terribly inconsistent. If you follow this Substack, that should be blatantly clear by now. This attempt wasn’t my first, and since the ripe of age of 10, I’d dedicated a bookshelf to being a journal graveyard. I wasn’t convinced anything would be different this time. But one page at a time—one root at a time—that shelf is a graveyard no more.

Some entries take longer, and I need to squeeze everything into the margins. Others are shorter, and I try to write as big as possible. But the sod took. The pages filled. Yes, there are weeds. Yes, there are also flowers. But it’s my yard, and it’s prettier than what was there yesterday.

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1. sketchy