I am exhausted from digging graves
deep enough to plant onions
and potatoes without disturbing the dead come harvest.

I see cross hatched fields in shadow.
I see a baby crawl through a minefield.
I see crows grow fat no matter how quickly I dig.

As the traumas displace a subliminal ocean
I begin to see the odd beauty
of a four hole button

half crushed to jagged fragments,
the other half solid beyond expectation.
How frayed threads hold the button to the coat.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s