ManicDDaily

Dust to Dust

I roll this rock
up up this hill,
trying to remember
where I put
my….

The rock is large, chest-high–not like some
marble you can thumb at all the world.
I lean into it as I push, as if it
were the dais of my existence–

though I also pinch my lips
into a tight shut fist against the dust
thrown up by our erosive path,
our close connection–

Of course, I want it to
crumble–the rock to pulverize, the
hill to subside.  How else will I dis-solve
this problem
of path and footing?

But still chest stumbles; dust
seeping through every refusal–
Because I just can’t breathe
when holding breath, can’t rest
when pushing.
(And not-pushing is not
an option–I’m pretty sure
they were clear on that much–)

Oh where–
did I put–
my–
rock….

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I am posting the above poem for dVerse Poets Pub “meeting the bar” challenge, hosted by Victoria C. Slotto.  The challenge was to write an allegorical poem.  I went for the obvious (sort of.)

The 26th day of National Poetry Month!