Cultivating Recovery I have dug this dirt three times; don’t expect I will find anything new. And yet, there is always the discovery of old roots. They run thick, tangled with new growth and lumps of impending fungus; must find strength to rip them from my soil. If I left them to grow, what crop would a summer harvest bring? My summers have known drought too often for hope. I search them out, eliminate any possibility of germination. They will only be a memory of whatever bitter fruit they have borne. Bare fingers dig, bloodied and scarred. Somewhere, I must find that tuber I will call by your name, and tear it from my heart. Shirley Alexander © 2009Return to: Still Surviving
