a good sharp shovel with a shining edge
and thrust it into the ground?
there's that soft resistance and then a faint
pop
as the hardened earth gives way
and it slides down and under
with the warm scent rising into the air
sweet and heavy to cling to you
and then you push a little harder and flex
throw the dirt and how it spreads throughout the air
scattering and falling looking almost liquid
till it sprinkles across you and you laugh
wiping the smudges down your arms
and feeling like for once the world is alright....
have you ever felt that way- she asked
running her hand absently over her ridged wrist
like the world is alright?
2 comments:
Oh, it seems so so obvious now. i'm surprised i didn't get it at first...Brilliant brilliant poem. very dark, but extremely genius. that word "pop" still sends shivers down my spine though....It provokes appropriate emotions too: a sort of dark sadness and a morbid catharsis
of course.
and she slices again.
smiling, envisioning planting daisy's.
or something in the furrows.
and she plows on.
making trails and barren gardens.
on her epidermis landscape.
and she sighs.
rubbing her finger along the whitened lines.
have you?
it's alright.
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