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Dig.
That’s the first thing they say to me,
When I wake in that muddy field,
Dig.
They press a shovel to my chest,
It’s rough wood, heavy and cruel in my new hands.
Dig.
They say once more,
I do not know anything else but –
Dig.
The earth had birthed me only moments ago
So I grip the old wood and begin to –
Dig.
But I must be digging for a reason,
A purpose I don’t remember, I don’t remember anything but –
Dig.
Family? Children? Whoever whatever it was –
It must be important, so I –
Dig.
The shovel breaks,
So I toss it aside and drop to my knees –
Dig.
I sink my fingers into the soil
Worms caress my palms and I crush them in my –
Dig.
I can’t see the sky anymore
That’s okay, I don’t need it to –
Dig.
There is something else down here
Something else, I can hear it –
Dig.
I can hear it breathe, it is coming up –
I am going down, together we –
Dig.
It scraps, is puffs, it claws and
It’s beneath me now, beneath my –
Dig.
It’s in my way now, I have to use my nails
Against its strange surface, spongey and soft, I –
Dig
My nails pierce the skin and its bursts.
Liquid, warm and wet, thickens the soil that I –
Dig.
The rhythm has stopped; the breathing is gone.
I am alone again, so I continue to –
Dig.
Written by Skye Taylor
Author
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