The grass tells me what to do.

To water it past thirst, so tiny pools
float on the surface. Fight off ants
that are tearing up the yard. Pinch
the child with the magnifying glass.
Lay in it in the sun, reading it books
on photosynthesis. Even when
to drop into the dirt, to let a fresh lawn
cover my body. Don’t worry about
a thing, it says. Your breath will be
waiting on the other side. Sometimes
I believe it, and find my bones freed
from anxiety. But other times I sit
inside, away from what can hurt me.
I take in oxygen. I love everything else.