Digging to China
I was only trying to dig a grave
for the dog; she waited for me to come home
from work, then she died.
How deep do I dig, I asked the vet.
Eighteen inches, he told me;
but once I got started I couldnīt stop,
even though I am small-boned
and have arthritic thumbs --- not really a digger ---
but the rhythm helped my tears,
and after many nights or weeks or years,
I broke through, I saw daylight,
and three Chinamen looked at me
without expression, as they sometimes do,
and talked their quick talk,
which I understood perfectly;
and by then I knew
it was superfluous
to bury the dog.