when i signed on to live in a distant desert for half a year, i told myself that i could tolerate a spring in a place with no earthworms.

the sidewalks of my home flood with confused worms every warm rain; drowned, bloated tubes of flesh drift downhill, gathering at the gutter by the back door i use to get to my office. sometimes, i catch them crawling up concrete steps, pushing their bodies along the cracks to creep upwards only to find another rising wall. their indistinct features bother me; i cannot help but transport my consciousness into their shapes, suffering a baking sun or a crushing foot. i cannot help it when i see them, so i try not to see them.

so, i looked forward to a season of being spared this, for once.

i didn't anticipate being assigned a housing unit in a compound with a walled garden, a tended yard with irrigated grass, and soil imported from overseas full of organisms crucial to maintaining landscaping health. the worms came up, every night, during scheduled watering.


02 April 2018 20:18

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