I was digging in the dirt today.
Hoeing out the early grub of weeds
In the soft soil it was easy. The hula
hoe slipped beneath the surface and
plucked them up like old bad done deeds.
The flat hard table of non growing soil
was another story. I scraped and scrabbled
barely enough to clip a quarter inch beneath,
stressing enough to bend the very handle
as my heart and breath pushed into a rattle.
I’d rather not die out here. So I stop
for water and to sow some strength for myself.
Knowing what is the hard
soil of life, and what is the soft, is part
of the trick, isn’t it.