Katrina Kaye
I dig for you,
not easy to find
but you are there.
I dress in you,
not as warm as I remember.
Your scent changed.
No longer the person I knew,
but you, nonetheless,
and it is enough.
I recognize the
rough of jawline,
the tenderness in
the touch of hands
a piece of you
pacifies the savior
I could not be.
I cannot unearth you.
A little soap and water
rinses dirt from body.
Yet, I continue to
create burrows
digging for all
I cannot
leave buried.
“Dig” is previously published in Mollyhouse (2022).
Iron & Sulfur 
Speaking of burying, this is an old thing, from the 1980s:
CHOICE
I must choose I said.
Choose wisely They advised.
How? I asked.
Use your mind someone told me.
My mind is inadequate I think.
Use your heart another suggested.
If I use my heart I said,
I fear I’ll make the wrong choice.
Trust your heart another whispered.
I choose death.
That is wrong They clamored.
You are wise said only one.
I dug a grave
using only my hands
jamming sandy clay deep under my nails.
I took off my ring
genuine fifty-eight and one third parts gold.
I kicked off my leather boots
genuine man-made uppers,
peeled out of my 501 jeans
and threw away my fashion-fit shirt
with the real rhinestone buttons.
I lay down in that cool hollow of my mother
pulled a shroud of her earth over my body
and rested.
No peace.
Throwing the dirt off
I washed in a stream,
caressing myself with its icy lotion.
Running to a tall red ponderosa
I climbed into the sun at the top
smelled the resin on my hands
felt breezes on my sweaty skin
and I heard the rhythmic drumming
of my heart
make a wiser choice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very nice! That last stanza especially really hits. Thank you for sharing.
LikeLike
Thanks. I liked the cool breeze on sweaty skin and the resin smell with the drumming heart. I see that in my mind, feel the wind and smell pine resin every time I read it. The fast heart beats remind me of the feeling of a fast hike or a hard climb, and reveling in the recovery afterward.
LikeLiked by 1 person