Digging Into Dry Earth

Handle rough, splintered in my palm,

metal edge bites the thirsty ground.

Roots snap brittle beneath the blade,

dust rising where silence is found.

The soil cracks, hard and tight,

a crust that breaks beneath my strain.

I pull dead grass tangled and dry,

like memories caught in dry, cracked veins.

Half-buried blade holds stubborn earth,

a crease where metal meets tired wood.

I dig for something that won’t grow here—

a hollow fight in parched solitude.