i was given a belly of rocks
and each stone asks,
"plant me," so i do.
each spring blesses me with
the same stony seeds
and i thank the god of my childhood
for his faithfulness -
that i continue to dig up what i've buried;
but i wonder,
what of the blood from labor-worn fingers
and the sweat
and the lust that i've spilled each season...
where is my return on that?
and the god of my adulthood stays silently distant
while i groan along with the pebbles,
and i dig,
and i dig.
the rocks cry and i join them,
begging the dirt for kindness
and the heavens for answers the earth has swallowed and
yet to spit-up.