Hands in the Earth

By | 1 February 2020

a drab puzzle for these scrambling mothers amongst shredded remnants of plastic bags 

shallow landfill, semi desert half-light the pieces of their sons mixed with others 

contrasting rates of decomposition pozole hominy in a thick mud soup  

rain on groundwater bringing to surface a scattered phalanx of human hand bones 

(some of the little pieces are children’s) up against a gated community 

the blue pools unrippled by commotion not too far from here a woman’s young neck

blown open with a dead toad placed inside the medium is always the message 

what’s the best to be hoped for at this stage to be cleaned to original whiteness 

misidentified to ease someone’s grief returned to earth in a marigold dusk 

or just deposit at the foot of this desert mistletoe fertile red no pain

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