Shabbat afternoon on our raised wooden deck
I am connecting to a friend, when —
Some sound from beyond
We both turn to look
down the long sloping lawn
(our backyard is a cut through) —
two urging mothers and their parade of youngsters
who are wheeled and heeled and beautifully dealed,
a little girl with a bright satin sash around her middle
calls to her friend — or maybe her sister —
with an air of excited mystery
as if she is about to reveal a diamond,
no, not a diamond so much as a circus oddity
(It seems to me there is derision mixed in to her amazement):
“Come see the eggs!”
I know what she will show her
We have a compost heap
On the side of the lawn
Marked off by fencing —
Grapefruit rinds, carrot peels,
The hefty stalk of a cauliflower that takes up all the room in the small tin compost bin we keep in the house — making it so full it has to be taken out — even when it’s raining and muddy and dark — me in splotchy navy Wellies up to my knees, like a farm girl with a pail of slop —
And yes, egg shells —
Their shining white brightness
Calling out to be noticed
Like the sash on the girl’s dress.
“Come see the eggs!”
Amusement turns my face to a grin,
and then a full-hearted laugh;
my friend’s laughing with me
though she doesn’t share the shame
which is strangely also present,
as if someon had examined my dirty bathroom
from the stance of their own perfect cleanliness,
as if my true lowliness
had been uncovered by an aristocratic child.
I could argue with this shame —
“You should be proud — you care for the earth!”
Or I could point out —
It’s my house, my backyard.
They were passing through by my gracious benevolence.
Indeed, the mothers seem to have understood this —
They look embarrassedly up at us
as they hush and rush the girls on.
I could argue with this shame,
but I have not found that shame responds well to lectures.
It feels better to laugh again
At this incomprehensible world of ours,
to laugh and join the little girl —
to become again a little girl —
with all her innocent enthusiasm,
and ask the mothers, too, to drop their shame
as we all call out —
“Come see the eggs!”
(photo by Ashley Marx)
