Heart Wrenching

The words come hard sometimes, like pulling weeds that just refuse to part with their roots or their small seemingly inconsequential places in this world. I dig down deep below my words, below their roots, and still, I am not at the end, I am not at the place where they began. That would take shrinking myself down to the size of a verbal microbe and plunging into the deepest recesses of my memory whose many doors are no longer all open to me. It means digging up rocks whose large ends are always the most deeply buried, teasing me from the top, saying "We're small...you can dig us up," until I try and find that, the deeper I go, the bigger the rock. And then I abandon the effort in disgust and walk away.


Words are like that, and the ideas they organize themselves into...rocks whose small ends show until I've broken a sweat digging, only to find that the big end, and sometimes the gem hiding inside, are too deep, and there is no getting at them, and so I must let nature, and my life, continue to pile even more experiences and memories on top of them, leaving me no choice but to move on.


But couldn't I get at them from the side, I wonder, dig down through the softer soil and then horizontally to the gem? I could, but that might mean ignoring those small seemingly insignificant words that are closer to the surface and that beckon less ostentatiously or lie there awaiting the sun's touch to glint their meaning to me. I might miss them, though, while I dig, blinded by the sweat in my eyes, failing to see the pebbles of greater meaning tumbling into the hole, gone forever.


https://www.amazon.com/Rachel-Lovejoy/e/B00JJ259DS/

Interim

...and so I find myself for the moment at least slowed
brought to a temporary stop between ideas possibilities thoughts and
I take this time to look out at the light golden on some leaves
emerald on others and I imagine each has it own story of how
it moves the water and minerals through vein and petiole
lures them up from the roots with promises of immortality or at least
a momentary glory at summer's height.


And there, I look for inspiration a renewed sense of purpose
where I delve and dig in the humus of my mind
readying it for the next seed or sprout
wondering what it will be what genus what shape it will take
where it will lead me through the maze of roots and tunnels dug by
other smaller things that ask no questions assume little but give much.


Then hands trembling I approach the task heft the spade and dig deep
the soil resisting at first then parting willingly sensing my love.


https://www.amazon.com/Rachel-Lovejoy/e/B00JJ259DS