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The smell of the turkey barns around here,
the meat and the manure,

reminds me of when,

at eighteen, I told my mama that
the only way I could be pregnant
was through an immaculate conception.

Less than a month later, I
threw my first child into
a meat grinder.


The seeds in the garden, that my
husband tends to, have
sprung up and spread–

Little, pale-white flowers are a
promise to fruits and vegetables, ripe and plump,
from water, and soil, and fertilizer.


And the turkey barns’ smell,
the meat and the manure,
reminds me of how all things must be
dug up, and buried, and tended to
before anything can begin to be harvested.

Katie Bowers is a poet and educator living in the rural Southeast with her husband and daughter. Her work has been published in Kakalak, Broad River Review, and Levee Magazine

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