Infrastructure

I thought the yard was finally clean

until the shovel hit the hidden seam.

I tugged a branch that looked quite small

but felt the tug against the garden wall.

Beneath the grass, in the damp and dark,

lay a history written in knotted bark.

A thick, muddy fist gripped tight to the clay,

refusing to let the old year slip away.

It’s a heavy thing, what we bury deep,

the kind of promises we meant to keep.

I’m sweating now, just trying to be free

of the parts of the house that still belong to the tree.