Still Life

It’s hard work
Clawing at dirt
Sore muscles converging
Pulling and purging
Rocks and roots
Soil in my nails, my cuffs, my boots
Digging holes in the ground,
Laying trenches, heaping mounds,
Tucking away my small seeds
To water and feed
And protect from harm
Until their tiny arms
Reach for the sun
Crawling inside when I’m done
For a glass of tap water and some cool air.
It’s hard work out there.

But it’s easier than conversation.