Disbelieving fingers

Poem by Dunedin poet, Pam Morrison

OK

OK, so I live in the city.

So I've never pressed

My ear to the earth

For its secrets

Never known the furtive 

Tug for water

From a forked rod

Or criss-crossed the land 

Until my soles are knowing

And tough as old boots

Yes, I've opened the dirt

A handful of times

Pressed in odd bulbs

With disbelieving fingers

Only to be baffled again

And again by the harvest

But get this

Old magic, God of Abraham

Call it what you will

Is still thick as thieves

With this urban girl

How else could it be 

That here I am

Humming from the bone

Damn smack in the middle 

On that still point

You call destiny