Junk Drawer

We look at the worm.

I found it tucked under a weed, and balancing its middle on a small stick, I placed it on a paving stone.

It writhes back and forth, curling into an O shape in alternating directions. I project distress onto the worm and feel a pang of guilt for leaving it so exposed.

Luna raises her eyebrows. She shrieks and takes a few steps back, her face torn between delight and disgust.

I tell her that the worm lives in the dirt and helps make the dirt healthy and ready for plants. That the dirt is the worm’s home.

Bad Archive by Flora Feltham, features an essay on a worm farm that the third person narrator keeps in her garden. She describes the heaving mass of moving worm bodies that live inside the box. She talks about her roommates reluctantly agreeing to feed it food waste, and then the sheer quantity of scraps needed to keep it alive. She talks about the nutrient-rich liquid that emerges from this compost process, fertilising the soil for new growth. I am torn between delight and disgust.

We look at the worm. We watch the tiny segments expand and contract as it slowly centimetres towards the grass. It arrives at the edge of the paving stone and disappears into the soil.

Where the worm go Mama?

Where do you think it went?

I think… it went to the kitchen to make pasta.