digging
A lithe, aged man stands within a circle of trees. Beside him is a pile of freshly-turned soil, small creatures burrowing in and out, bewildered. A light ran falls, forming in gentle rivulets streaming around his bare feet. His hands slowly, diligently carve into the softened ground, expanding a hole now large enough to fit a child. He sings to himself, under his breath.
Digging in the dirt…
His fingers curl around lumps of dark clay.
Stay with me I need support…
He dumps the clay and small rocks onto the growing pile of soil. The rain falls heavier, the rivulets filling his hole.
I’m digging in the dirt
Find the places I got hurt
Open up the places I got hurt…
His body shakes with sobbing, his nose bleeds, dripping into the muddied loam.
The more I look, the more I find
As I close on in, I get so blind…
The rain falls in sheets. Water courses in turbulent streams down his forehead, pouring from his nose and chin, pooling in the hole.
I feel it in my head, I feel it in my toes
I feel it in my sex, that’s the place it goes…
His fingers scrape against something hard, and he deliberately, longingly moves mud away, revealing the white of bone.
Digging in the dirt, to find the places we got hurt…
No Comments Yet