I’m digging for my voice,
Trying to unearth her,
Find a way up from the grave for her.
My fingers bleed into the dirt and the limestone.
It’s rocky Arkansas soil,
and I’ve misplaced my pick axe and shovel.
I remember something:
a young man told me to dig deep into the hard ground
dig down to the bedrock,
find the foundation.
Maybe that’s where I’ll find her,
sitting on the bedrock,
waiting for me.