I’m in love with digging
The slice of the shovel blade
The crunch and rattle going down
I love how muscles lift and toss
Yellow-brown dirt, thick with clay
How the pile grows
Beside the hole
How the crisp wind swings branches
How white petals swirl
Land on my hat.
It’s deep enough, he says.
No, I say, and press the shovel hard
Wider and deeper
Fill the hole with rich dark soil chunks
From yellow bags
Break them soft and smooth
Set the lilac bush into the future.
Inhale, and plant hope.