I Continue To

I woke up early this morning to
pick a flower,
I buried my hands in the earth
and screamed.

I don't remember how it was that
I forgot the seeds,
but surely I could not pick
what I did not plant.

Turning over the soil endlessly with an
artisan's dedication,
my tireless toiling digs the hole
deeper and deeper and deeper.

I'm not even sure what to do with
this dirt,
what good can I bring to this world
from my garden, of all places.

My apprehensions notwithstanding, I continue to
dig and dig and dig,
each strike that I lay into this soil
kills an inch of me.

I am no quitter, but I know how to cry.