Loam

The heater was humming too loud.

It felt like a swarm of bees

trapped in the vents.

So I went out to the driveway

where the air is flat and sharp.

I didn't think about gloves.

I just started pulling the weeds

out of the cracks in the asphalt.

They were frozen stiff,

snapping off like old dry bones.

Now I’m back inside.

There is a crescent of black silt

packed tight under my nail.

It’s the color of the wet road.

I can’t seem to scrape it out.

It’s like I brought a little bit of the dark

into the house with me.