Written by Zoe

I plant the last of my seeds 

bury them deep into dry soil, 

water them with the 

vestiges of my hope 

Sit idly above the earth 

watching, waiting, worrying, wringing 

my muddied hands over the plot of earth, 

captivated by the slightest signs of life. 

A molecule of dirt shifts 

and I scramble on unsteady feet, 

hunched over the grave, 

digging and flinging and tearing, 

the ground flying up beneath me. 

The skin on my fingers 

so ripped and raw and red 

caked with the evidence of 

my desperation. 

Stagnant water softens the roots 

turning them into something pulpy, 

malleable and useless, 

rotting and molding 

beneath the crust. 

The land, 

the Earth, 

barren and empty.