A Blue Jean Liturgy

outside, I’m in jeans,
stick in hand,
I dig holes.
fill jean pockets with rocks.
forge rivers and streams
from the hose.

dirt on knees,
dirt on jeans,
streaks and stripes,
mud and mischief,
worn as a holy covering.

jeans age, thin.
they stretch.
again and
again and
these paneled jeans wear
till they fade from my closet,
a prayer.

outside, she’s in jeans.
stick in hand,
she digs holes.
fills jean pockets
with rocks from the earth.


This is my contribution to T. S. Poetry’s Mischief Cafe theme for April: Show us your (poetry) jeans


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