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I dig for bones
I dig for bones.
Nameless bones
for nameless faces
that have rotted off
crammed in nameless graves.
They were the young men I had seen
‘round side my town
in their greens holding
Cigarettes.
I dig their bones like treasure
though it isn’t out of reverence to them –
No.
I dig them because they are treasure.
Priceless to me
because they are opportunity
Incarnate.
There’s a ticket in these bones.
The ticket to Freedom and Liberty
to the land of Hope.
I wonder
Gruesomely
of ashes and marrow at my feet
of slimy mud embracing me
of young men of the towns
of yearning –
Yearning
I yearn.
I yearn that my hands will never be caked in their dirt again.
I yearn that my lips will never drink this poisoned air again.
I yearn that I will no longer linger –
Linger
on those young men in green
putting out their cigarettes on their bare arms
laughing in foreign tongue
laughing like children.
Those young men in green.
I yearn.
I am not alone when I dig these bones.
There are others.
Haggard others
with gaunt faces
wading through the mud barefoot
Clawing
for Opportunity.
They remember the young men too.
They remember the yearning.
They remember the talk of a new kind of treasure
buried beneath wasteland.
The treasure that buys you
the ticket to Freedom.
I dig for bones.
I dig for bones.
I dig for bones.
I dig for their bones.
My ticket to freedom.
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