5.11

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.