Dig

I dig

I'm good at it

I spade

I poke

I prod

I scoop

I shovel

I chop

I grip with both hands

Pound the blade into the earth

So intent on the importance of my effort

Indignantly focused on maintaining my dignity

that I don't see when I chop through my own roots

roots that are in my way

On my way down
On my way down
On my way down

and then

I dig even deeper 

I feel like I have been digging 

for a very long time

I remember 

Digging in the sandbox 

when I was three 

somehow intrinsically 

I already knew what dirt tasted like

But I heaped a spoon with grit 

and filled my mouth with it 

anyway

as if the desert drying

and granular grinding 

was the normal state 

that my teeth and tongue 

were supposed to be in

It seemed like a logical decision 

We come from the dirt

Return to it when we are done

Made of the same elements 

Just visitors of space rocks and stardust

Or maybe it was just that

my body felt like it was full of dirt already

As of late

in the morning 

I dig my feet into the mattress 

Push myself out of bed

Dig the spoon into the grounds 

Push myself out the door 

Dig my toes into the concrete 

Push myself down the street 

When the rush is at its peak 

and my patience is pushed to its limit

a midday moment 

that mirrors 

the desperation 

of a midnight hour

teeters on the edge of depletion 

Its an insistent redundant surge 

of hopelessness stirred

by the futility of endless digging 

Seduced again

by the fertility 

of soft top soil

Finding myself in the dark 

only to look up for the light 

as I realize 

I have burrowed myself into a hole again

I inspect the dirt

Under my fingernails 

and instead of cleaning it out 

I wear it as a badge of work ethic

when really 

its just a resistance to 

coming clean 

Like a child who cries at bath time

Clinging to hiding behind the grime

from the digging of the day

Evidence of accomplishment 

Residue of duty and diligence 

Dirt tracks that prove existence 

Smears of meaning that dry to a crust

and then crack upon the surface of the skin

Traces of mud 

in exchange for the feeling 

that someone saw 
even the smallest grain of sand

Held your worth in their hands 

like overflowing handfuls of garden
or is it overflowing landfills of garbage

sometimes I cant tell
because old habits die hard

instinctually my heels dig in

and it is then

that I dig the deepest 

I dig my nails through my thickened skin

Between the fibers of the overworked muscle of the day

push my thumbs into the thick red clay

of my stubborn heart

Dig through the stories upon stories 
stacked deep within my mind

Wrap my fingers around my bones

Squeeze and shake  

with all my might

Until all the dirt and rocks 

and dust and bugs

and rats and snakes

and trolls and gremlins
and every last thing that could bite

falls out

It is not my intention

to be an undignified ditch digger

making new trenches just to have a path to follow

there is no need for my work ethic

to become my worth deficit

For there are already fields of holes

Yards of graves for the choosing

that I may fall into from time to time 

I don't need to dig more for myself

Instead I need to dig my way out

I tell myself it is with loving gesture

that I claw and scratch 

Cut through the fog of my vision 

Dig through my irreverence

through my sarcasm

through projected self judgement

It digs through me

as I witness it digging through you

Reverence is unearthed

revealed through the realization

that the respect lacking in my words and actions towards you

reflects the respect lacking in my words and actions towards me  

I've learned that

pushing

rushing

running 

forcing

hiding

panicking 
spinning

digging 

really doesn't work

It often makes things worse 

lessons learned better late than never

I just wish could learn them

without the inflicted casualties

and self sacrifices along the way

But I digress

because I don’t know what else I am here to do

but dig through my life

Dig through my dirt

So I keep digging

and digging

and digging

and digging

and digging

and I suppose I will

until I realize

that I will I never reach the bottom

if I continue
to insist 
on digging.

Comfort

Yea, though I walk 

through the valley 

of the shadow of death

I will fear no evil

for thou art with me 

thy rod and thy staff 

they comfort me

But now is not the time 

for rods

or staffs 

or comfort

It is not the time to be swallowed 

to wallow in words of anger

that overwhelm you 

to let disbelief stop you in your tracks

Do not allow yourself 

to retreat into 

hatefulness

and self righteousness 

and fear

For unfortunately 

Sometimes 

what we fear the most 

will come true  

Most definitely 

when we need it to 

And it is not that we must not fear it

It is that we must walk into it

Even when 

especially when 

we fear it

I realize the trouble Is

that it is hard to walk

When it feels like someone has been kicking you in the shins 

every time you take a step

But the trouble also is

the way every other country

has seen us 

which is that we are too comfortable  

No matter what our problem is 

in this country 

we are still 

more comfortable 

and well off 

than almost anyone else in the world  

I realize that this thought is not comforting

It is not our job to be more comfortable right now 

There are too many people 

Who have been too comfortable 

with too many things 

for too long

At this humiliating moment

This country is seen  

as the biggest clown car 

on the planet  

And at this suffocating moment 

It is all we can do 

to allow the new driver

to look like a clown 

and hope that very soon 

even his own followers will see

But in the mean time 

It is up to you and me

to show them what acrobats 

and tightrope walkers 

look like  

Show them what elephant trainers

and lion tamers 

look like  

Show them what respect and dignity 

and humility and compassion 

and selflessness and generosity 

and beauty and soul 

and love 

looks like

Show them what self love looks like

in the face of hate  

If you can

take that gentle cemented stand

Root your feet

and branch out your loving hands

you will show them 

how to love themselves 

Which is what was missing 

in the first place

Having a mother to protect us 

is a lovely thought 

It is a comfort  

Believe me when I say

I know what it feels like to want something so much 

you think your heart will explode

You think you will die without it

and in that moment 

when you know you cannot have it

the blackhole that surrounds you 

beckons like a comforting death

However

Sometimes comfort 

does not instill growth 

Sometimes comfort 

does not create change 

sometimes comfort 

breeds complacency and apathy  

2 things that have no place 

in the evolution of this human race 

No soul runs deeper than 

that of a motherless child

And hell hath no fury 

like a woman scorned 

And sometimes we forget

That being president 

of the United States 

is not the highest calling 

on the planet  

Being a mother is  

And a great mother once said 

it takes a village  

But she must have been meant 

for something greater 

and so are we

Let us not despair 

Let us not raise our tempers 

Let us not raise a hand

Nor rod

Nor staff

Instead 

Let us raise a glass

Let us raise ourselves

Let us raise each other

Yea, though I walk 

through the valley 

of the shadow of death

I will fear no evil 

for thou art with me

Next Time

My goodbyes are not graceful 

As hard as I try 

I can't seem to eliminate the awkward

It's probably because I hate them

goodbyes 

How can one be skillful

at something one does not want to do

Once again

I am trying too hard

I want my send offs 

and leaves taken

to be full

of a love and gratitude 

that envelopes you 

like a grandfathers bear hug

Lights your way 

like the beams of a new friends smile

But instead 

most of the time 

it feels like desperate grasping 

from the sudden realization 

of all I will miss

Stuttering, stammering, searching 

for words of reassurance 

that there will be a next time

No matter how much time

may come to pass

My heart struggles 

to figure out how to say

I want you to know  

that I want there to be a next time

The littlest ones

with the fewest words

seem to sum it up

better than any appropriate 

a grown up could present 

A gigantic smile 

and an unabashed gaze

Arms and legs wrapped tightly

around your knee 

Or little fists gripping

face buried in moms pant leg 

refusal to even acknowledge 

the end of this time 

So be forewarned 

someday in the future

I may follow their lead

Don't be surprised 

if I sink to the floor

Wrap my arms and legs around your knee

bury my face in your pant leg 

shamelessly

Grin up at you

and cry

all at the same time

I will do my damnedest

to drape my love around you 

during the time we are together

Give my best grandfather bear hugs

and when it is the presented time

take your face in my hands 

Because I must

To make sure you can see

my yearning for next time

before we have even parted

I won't try to hide the awkward

I won't try to force the graceful

I won't try to quiet the tenderhearted

I won't try to be happy about goodbye 

I won't try

I will just be 

So you will know 

that there will always be
a next time

New Work - Monotypes and Painting

rose garden

Love left a potted rose plant 
at my door today

as a house warming gift

The note attached 

my first welcome home

Small delicate flowers

gossamer pink

surrounded by intense veridian 

Slowly the leaves have died

brown creeping up the stems

the blossoms have dried 

and fallen

The light from my windows is not strong enough 

my winter sun not warm enough 

The water and soil supplied

isn't nurturing enough

I sing to her

but it must not be in the language she speaks 

for she is unresponsive

I cannot 

locate 

her heartbeat

I don't know what she needs

I wish I knew what to feed her

The blossoms on my friends cheeks

were surrounded by veridian bruises 

back in highschool

Backwards backwoods teaching

about what happens when you speak your mind

or dare to be who you are

She dared to come out first

Bravely payed the price for the rest of us

but I still carry the punching bags around in my mind

Southpaws of cynicism 

stealing idealism

from the possibilities

of delicacy 

soft pink that could blossom 

within my thoughts instead

I keep trying to

bob and weave 

my way out of that jaded corner

My hands up at all times

Trying to anticipate 

the knockout clock

that keeps me in wait

I am in the midst 

of my match

I am trying so hard to 

turn over those veridian leaves

Inspect the anatomy of the tender underbelly

within those exposed veins is the new language to be learned

Soft cillia that whisper sweet nothings 

and nothing is sweeter than gentle fingertips

but pretty hard to handle such fragile foliage

with boxing mitts on

Golden gloves are revered with pride

but they are heavy

A weight that taints

the sugar bowl

which was full to begin with

but what do I do with soured sugar

I am tired of drinking lemonade

It doesn't make the roses bloom

I am tired of fighting with my mind

It doesn't make my house a home

I am tired of having blood on my knuckles

I would rather push them into the dirt

How do I switch from defense to offense 

Must I swing my way out 

Sound the bell

Round is over 

Please Let me exit the ring

This greenthumb is meant for more than just 
bringing back the dead

Sweet rose plant is still alive

and this champ 

wants to plant 

a rose garden