Katrina Kaye

She used to bury me in the sand;

I was comforted
by the weight on my body.
How the beach cradled me,
the earth held me.

I never suffered the thought of claustrophobia
or the fear which comes from restrained limbs.

The sand,
a thick covering
like the oscillation of waves.

The dirt is not so different.
Cool against my skin,
softer than sand,
sweeter to taste,
more consoling in the way
it held every part of me.

I could fight it,
squirm and struggle.

But lying here,
a well nourished seed,
letting each shovelful of supple
thick dirt fall on my body.
The weight steadily increasing
like a lover’s embrace.

I think about the earth,
one spoonful at a time,
devouring me.

The cradle of mouth around my limbs.
The ease of acceptance.

I think about childhood and hot summers and you.
I close my eyes.

I sleep.

“Dirt” is previously published in Madness Muse Press (2020).