People looked at her sideways
As if she were something a little queer
When she happily confessed her fondness for dirt,
Bewilderment registering in their eyes
That she, a molder of minds, was
Impassioned by the feel, the smell, the possibilities of soil.
It seemed to make the men uncomfortable
That she asked to go fishing with them
Or volunteered to help mend the asphalt
Or contribute to the masonry of the house.
They weren’t sure if they should humor her
Or just pretend like it never happened
And simply hope she went back to tasks
More appropriate for her sex
Than those of cultivating life, nourishing souls,
Mending the broken, and building a home.
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