As a small child I began tunneling through the dirt,
digging with my hands
I imagined digging through the world
through miles and miles of dirt until, one day,
I would scoop out one last piece and glimpse
the sunlight from the other side
A boy this age doesn’t consider the question of when
gravity would change and when the digging would
cease to be down, but up
Neither does he worry about water tables, or rocky
crust, much less the molten center of the planet
No, a child’s dream is free from these worries
and I imagined the strange world I might
find on the other side
What new people would I meet and what
would they look like? Would I be able to understand
them when they spoke?
These questions and images raced through my mind
as I dug – I don’t know what it was that compelled me
so, but I knew that was where my soul wanted to be
But one day, I gave up the dream, and as a small
boy does when he becomes a bigger boy and
learns the ways of this harsh world, I knew that
I would never see the sunlight peeking through the dirt
as I scooped that one last handful away
Today I wonder what was there, compelling
me to dig, pulling me from the other side of the
planet – Perhaps I will never know
But I look out the window and see the simple spade
leaning lonely up against the shed, and I wonder
Maybe I should dig again
