Holy Dirt

Notes on the summer grind

This poem is part of an unintended series. While it doesn’t need to be read that way, if you are interested you can find the other parts below:

Part I

Chokecherry

Part III

Shoulder Fire

---

Summer sunset reflected in an old rusted window from my old place.

---

The sky’s unfiltered,

a blue I can’t quite swallow

My heart’s burnt coffee,

steaming in an old cracked cup,

while the Robin preaches peace

from a rusted balcony

“Hush now,” the bird sighs,

“Lay your heavy hammer down”

But the Blackbird grins,

lighting up a crooked smoke,

laughing at the pace I keep

The clover’s getting drunk on summer sun,

Stretching out its wild green hands,

And god, I want to lose my watch

And melt right into the humid land

But there’s a checklist burning in my pocket

A whistle blowing in my chest,

And as the world blooms like a prayer,

I’m stuck calculating the rest

I step through the brush,

soft grass under heavy feet

The Robin begs “stay,”

but a rabbit’s heart kicks hard

underneath my ribs today

One Crow joins the laugh,

circling my restless head

I want the silence,

but I’m built for the gravel

moving through the holy dirt

---

Photos of city birds

---

---

This poem started out as a note and grew a bit from there, so I figured I would share it in a post.

Thanks for being here.

Until next time,

j

---

Want to read more poetry?

Subscribe for the full archive of poetry, short fiction, and more