Grit

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.

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