HIGHLIGHT

when we were kids we used to play our burials up on mulch mountain
o(you remember my backyard was
oA warzone
ocaked in mud craters lined with plyboard trenches
oevery shout from the back door rallied
otroops to grub--a spike in moral
oevery day our war drew closer to an end
ocraters into paths trenches into walls
owhen our yellow-vested opposition made peace they
oleft a trojan horse of mulch)
if we could have dug deep enough into the center
splinters embedded into summer callouses
we would have found ourselves waiting hiding
but our attention spans
shorter than our legs
we took to hiding rather than seeking
burying all but the nose then bursting out
o(you ignored the dirt stuck to your eyelashes
obut i always complained)
i spent the years of my youth with you
slicked in mud burying my toes in wet sand peeling moss
from the graying stones bordering my weed gardens--
(and now you've forgotten me (or maybe
it's the other way around) don't you
remember that we came from the dirt?)
each speck that made
us was a sister piece--
we only needed one breath between us

(the last time i
hugged you i think oth our ribs hurt
for a second your embrace felt like the crush
of mulch on my chest--i held all the air in my lungs
only to resurface alone)