my hands are dirty and i am happy. the sun plants kisses on my face as i make sure seedlings are quenched of new but never ending thirst. i lose my hands in their dirt and i drink with them. we help each other breathe in growth while tiny bugs tell us their names and join us too. they don’t gross me out anymore like how they used to. i still remember the smell of kale’s near death experience… i can’t stop thinking about it. flesh rotting into curious particles of air, nothing to save them except desperation. my body cried as i sat with them for hours.
until the veins in my knees popped and surfaced. love marks. until i sunk into the bed and couldn’t tell myself apart from the weeds. it’s fall now. the kisses on my face are fading and my hands won’t be dirty for much longer. the spiral is gone and the sun isn’t as romantic as she used to be. the cold forces us to make room for ourselves in a different corner of the sky while we wait for relief. blinding whiteness preserves what used to be. from the ground up.
including me. crystalized energies that flow back into the soils of april and shoot back colors. that’s when i know it’s time. my hands are dirty again with love.
and i am happy.
jun uchuya (they/she/he) is a poet, farmer, plant listener, and sound maker who writes to call upon others to re-think their connection with Earth. they create as a form of listening, reciprocity, and to bring attention to the presence, authority, and ability of more-than-human life to feel and respond. all of their writing is built around themes of environmental justice, which don’t just urge for a re-connecting with nature, but a respect for all beings and bodies. they are endlessly inspired by their Peruvian ancestors who, through art and storytelling, have shown respect for, and reciprocal connections to, all forms of life.