poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “spade”

same old spade

nobody sees you and if they say
that they do
they are wrong
and you are left scratching
the surface all over again

we know there is no going back
that it’s all about today
and yesterday is simply
a thin slice of overactive imaginations

it is spring already
and you find yourself in the garden
turning the clay with quiet determination

in the back of your mind
I encourage you to go on
and you step on the spade
leaving it stuck in the ground
walking away with pail in hand
meandering toward the rain barrel

november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Into the Earth

In my mind I draw a square
in the very center of the garden

From there I dig into the earth
using the seasoned spade
usually reserved for plantings

The hole slowly turns into a cube
as three mounds resemble
Egyptian resting places

Further down the soil
becomes hard and cold
the clay malleable enough
to mold eternal companions

Satisfied the opening
is mathematically sound
I hold the spade at my side
sweat falling off my forehead
silently instructing the child
to bring forth her loved one
to the newly built altar

november, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: