Buried Alive

a poem by Kelly Goudreau

I hear the spade dig into the soil,
and in one clean sweep
the earth falls upon my face.
You are trying to bury me alive…

again.

I grasp for the roots of the trees
protruding from the walls,
and I begin to climb.
My nails are blackened and
I taste the grit of the dirt on my tongue.
The sound of the spade rings in my ear.
Yet I continue to climb,
because no one will prevent me from
reaching higher ground.
Not even you.

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