The Dirt Beneath My Nails
Yesterday I went home again and
felt the dirt beneath my nails.
The light was rare and clean and
I saw everything so clearly,
even the ghosts of potential,
like shadows of the future,
stood out in stark relief.
Yesterday I went home again
and everything that is,
or could ever be right,
came to greet me,
eager and loving,
like a loyal dog waiting
at the end of the driveway for my return.
I will go home again soon
and become one with those friendly shadows,
pat that loyal dog, and dream
dreams that sprout
from the dirt beneath my nails.
There is healing in this poem. Home as loyal dog at end of driveway, I get it. I have never not liked turning off the gravel road to wind down into the valley here, to find the end of that rambling construction of narrowness, shadow, trees both upright and tilted, banks nibbled by deer and slides, to get to the bottom and find the driveway punctuated with a loyal dog – sometimes more.
Well now you should have a blog Cynthia! That was downright poetic!