Soil won’t let go

Dark earth packed beneath my nails,

like stubborn shadows I can’t shake.

Rain thick in the air,

pulling weeds that pull back harder.

The soil, a second skin,

pushing grit into lines of skin,

a stubborn friend I never asked for.

I scrub in the sink,

watch the grit hold on,

an unyielding trace of work

etched just beneath the surface.