It is much harder
Than it looks in the movies,
When they drive out to a spot beyond
The last motel in town to a thinning
Wood that's known for it, and in
The car headlights
Whack some peripheral character,
Then set to work with soil and shovel.
In fact, a pic axe is required at first
Because the ground is slower
To give than I was led to believe.
The earth resists; she requires purpose
And will not easily give up her secrets,
Will not easily take back this body.
There is too much time to think,
To think about mud and suchlike,
To think about many graves trampled
Unknowingly. I forget to look up, but when I do
I see it's daylight still, not like in the films.
In the films they dig at night, but
There is plenty of day stretching low
Across the crest of the hill.
There is also breath curling
white like milk in front of me.
This one, too, will
Not be the last, I'm sure.