My roots are in the soil of the place I once called home
and still I feel a part of that South Dakota loam.
It had rich humus that gave life to all that seeded me,
clay to hold my memories and sand to set me free.

Lest I give the impression that they’re gone without a trace,
a myriad of memories lie rooted in that place.
They flit like prairie moths through everything I do,
then sink back down into my heart like rich Dakota goo.


Prompts for today are impression, myriad, flit and home. (Loam is a fertile soil of clay and sand containing humus.) Photo by Nikola Jovanovic on Unsplash. Used with permission.

10 thoughts on “Loam

  1. Marilyn Armstrong

    Reblogged this on Serendipity Seeking Intelligent Life on Earth and commented:
    Having grown up in New York and now living in Massachusetts (with a decade in Jerusalem somewhere in between), I wonder where the grunge of New York fits in my soul? Is that why my house is never clean, no matter how often I try to get it done? The “New York grunge” is just “in there”? This poem spoke to me, though it made me wish I came from someplace less citified the the Big Apple. Enjoy!

    Liked by 1 person


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