the small dig

Life finds its way
in even the most inhospitable conditions
The earthworm reminds me
that a pile of dirt can be home
As I sift through the gravel
the broken shards of glass
the bits of bricks
the rusty nails
As I turn over the soil and
one by one
pull out the pieces
that could cut my bare feet
I give a gift to my past self
working through old pain,
quite literally collecting it
in a toy dump truck to go to
the pile of refuse
To my present self
I give the gift of refuge
sunshine
I feel in my bones that I evolved
to get satisfaction from
digging in the dirt.
To future me
I give one more patch of turned soil
a place where
plants may grow
my feet will walk when it is warm
Looking at the entirety of the task at hand
overwhelms me
So instead I focus on my hands in the dirt
removing the sharp stone
its extrication my processing
its extraction my protection