Author Information
Past and Present
Folder:
The Letters
I dig my hands into the dirt,
to gain clarity,
to feel small
My father would work this Earth
until sweat trickled and stung his eye
He would search for tin boxes and
civil war buttons
All he found was grief
All he revived was the raw truth
And he came home... with a story to be told
I got no limbs baby, he said
They all quit on me one day out of nowhere
They just checked out, like a drunk at closing time
So I put my hands into the dirt
and smell them
Because in the evenings
he had the scent of Earth on his shirts
And that is how I like to remember him
;-)
I love everything you write, but this one really connected! It's funny how the deeper I dig, the less I know, but the more familiar things become.
Dirt Under Long Nails
"...like a drunk at closing time..." is the best simile I have run across in a long, long, long time. Thoughtful write& a fine tribute to yr dad - Lady A
I thank you :)
I thank you :)
"It is a terrible thing to be so open. It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -- Sylvia Plath.