dirt

I am out with lanterns looking for myself 

amongst thorns, leaves and old bean bags that rot out

behind the shed – look there! My childhood watches

me on my hands and knees, scrounging and bleeding.

These grazed knees have been seen here time and time; 

cared for, uncared for and caring for others 

making them feel good and making myself good. 

Well, more the former because they are not here, 

now, in this wretched year on the forest floor 

again and again with the woodlice and worms.

Picking up the dirt in my nails and bloodstream

and I carry it home and take it to bed.