Fingernails with my grit underneathe,
I wield my diry nails of fortitude;
I destroy the humid heat with my water tank,
My back hoe, and an ice cube down my shirt.
I dig the black earth into deeper night,
Filter in the manure and mulch.
Sticks and stones won’t break me;
They only make the soil richer.
And all of the pebbles in the soil
Sweep inside my stubborn heart
And layer the garden of my soul.