Subsoil

The spider plant was already half-gone,

gray at the tips and leaning hard.

The plastic tub gave way with a dry snap,

dumping a gallon of dark peat moss

across the linoleum I just mopped.

Now I’m typing this email with heavy hands.

There are black crescent moons under my nails,

dirt clicking against the keys.

Every time I hit 'send,' a little bit of the garden

falls into the gaps of the laptop,

burying the things I should have said.