Add More Worms

By Taylor Baker

 

Once, on my way back from the bus stop, I found a dead robin in the street. She was perfectly intact, her wings and neck were unbroken, there wasn't a speck of blood on her feathers. She looked as if she had always been dead, or maybe a statue brought to life. In fear of what might become of my soul if I don't pay the only respects I know, I dart into the intersection and scoop her up before a truck gets her. I buried her in my garden, under my honeysuckle, and she still talks to me sometimes.

 

“This bed needs more worms,” she says.

 

“More worms,” I agree and I add more worms.

 

“I heard if you let worms’ ferment in water for a few days, the water turns into fertilizer,” she says.

 

“Where did you hear that?” I ask.

 

“A little bird told me,” She says, and I dig around in my basement for a Home Depot bucket, fill it with water from the hose, and add worm castings. Within days, the water is thick, brown, and disgusting. I dump the bucket over my rhubarb plants and they love it; I splash a bit over Robin’s grave as thanks and my honeysuckle blooms better than it has in years.

 

“I think the strawberries should go in that bed this year,” she says and I put the strawberries in the other bed, and put a few on Robin’s grave to say thank you. They're gone by the next morning and I hope she enjoys them.

 

“Your roses need more water,” she says and she's right. I leave roses on her grave and they don't either as soon as they should have.

 

“I have a friend for you,” I say and bury a mouse my cat had caught and left on my bed for some reason.

 

“Thank you, but your company is enough,” she says. I’m not dead though, I don’t know what it’s like to sleep in the ground. This mouse does, she’s better company than me.

 

“You’ll be here soon enough,” she says and I hope not.

 

“What do you think about my compost pile?” I ask.

 

“Needs more worms,” she says and the mouse agrees with her. I add more worms and they’re both right.

“My rhubarb is starting to wilt,” I say.

 

“More worms,” the mouse says and the robin tweets in agreement. The worm tea thing worked last time, so I do it again, but it doesn’t help as much as it did before. I tell them this and they dismiss my concerns.

 

“More worms,” they say and I want to tear my hair out as I add more worms. The strawberries are wilting, the tomatoes are wilting, only the honeysuckle is doing well.

 

“More worms,” they chatter and I want to scream.

 

“I need better compost,” I try to tell them.

 

“Add more worms,” Robin says.

 

“Yes, more worms,” Mouse says.

 

Perhaps Robin had a point about adding another dead thing in the garden. Three has definitely become a crowd and I’ve become outnumbered by little ghosts.

 

“More worms,” Robin repeats.

 

“Stop with the worms,” I whisper, crouched next to the honeysuckle with my head in my hands.

 

“We’re dead and you are not, why are you asking for our opinion when we don’t know what you are anymore?”

 

I think I need to stop talking to little ghosts.

 

Taylor Baker from US is a history major at Salem State University. She is passionate about writing.