August 15th, 2016

It is satisfying, my intimate
view of each milky root as I
pull it from the new dirt.

The thick ones are gratifying,
proudly independent even when
I hold them above the ground with
naked roots displayed ungracefully.
But it is the thin ones
I enjoy most. Deceptively staunch,
woven subtely below
the surface and untraceable
except by my clumsy fingers.

Perusing the progressively
sparser patch of earth, a plant
digger and tender life ender,
I think about my own delicate
anchors. If only I could
dig up my end points as
cleanly as each leafy structure
is lifted out of the ground:

whole, speckled with dirt and grit
and the dignity of a life interrupted.

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