one winter

the sharper shovel
digs best in the cold,
when the earth
is frozen, your
boot striking
the stiff metal
edge to push the silver
curve into
mud thickened
ground. nine feet
deep, twelve
feet wide, three
feet across to
get to the crack
on the basement wall.
and at nineteen
you could dig all
day and loved it.
your new bones,
muscled and lean,
and freshly carved
face sweating below
a sun that hardly
knew you.