The universe gifted me a gorgeous poem from Amanda Lovelace.
Gifted is my attempt at levity and positivity.
And not being so much of a face-down mess.
I was trolling Instagram and drowning in the thick, dirty seas of jealousy and I saw her post.
I love this poet.
I love her work. And her truth. And her anger.
Mostly her anger.
This one reached out and grabbed me.
It speaks about the truth of knowing that no one else can dig out our sadness.
I was hit in the heart with the proverbial blade of that spade.
My vision of that is that no one can take away what another person left behind. That rancid trash has been heaped, and it’s staying. No new neighbor is going to help haul that away. Your mess now.
Another take, is that can the same person return to the site where they dropped hurt and heaviness and take it away.
One they’ve left it, they’ve left it. Roots are set.
Their removal tools will never be as sharp and quick as their planting rig. Your mess now.
You need to fire up your own chain saw to tear that fucker out.
Dig it out
The shit and sadness left
Let them lease the land
Tender and toiled
Turned over and
Spread with shit
To make the hardest thick.
And now I play farmer?
I kill things that depend on the ground.
I don’t cultivate them.
So what do I do with
This stony fill?
Mound it intro a gravestone,
Leave it for dead?
Play house and
Put up a foundation?
Lug it around for days
Until you forget
What it was like to walk around
Without the weight of a corpse
In your soul?
I can’t recommend that.
Too fucking hard.
I’m old and my joints
will not oblige.
They won’t haul it away.
And you can’t take it with you.
So leave it.
Dig it out.
Make a messy, gnarly pile.
Let the maggots and the beetles
Have their day.
Dig it out.
Leave it there.
Don’t look at it again.
But take the shovel.