My Fingers Dig

by James Brian Livingstone

My Fingers Dig

in ground in gravel.
lifts from
turned drills.

Novel soil. Tooth
chipped blade.

A pocket of dry
anticipates hard labour.

Tough boots trail dirt.

Dry caked hands
rough-used denim.

Three thin crows perch.
pine branches.

Chin on wooden hoe...

coral sea shimmers
vespertine horizon.

From soiled
bridal apron,
tin scooped water.

With sanguine gaze,

we regard
this callow farm.

This anergic field we work to shape.

James writes: I'm a medical doctor practicing emergency and family medicine with a smidgen of allergy consultation work added in for good measure; have a black belt in an okinawan form of martial art called Uechi-Ryu Karate; and have internet poetry publication credits including: Poetry Cafe, Astrophyscist's Partner Tango Speaks and Grepoetry.

"My Fingers Dig" reflects one of my major life-time/poetic themes....a poem that not only cuts close to home, but also reflects some of the attributes that I admire most about the human spirit. To quote Robert Frost, "The Tuft Of Flowers": " 'Men work together', I told him from the heart, 'Whether they work together or apart.' "

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