i was given a belly of rocks;
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 -
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?
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.