Plough

Plough

I do not know what has aged me—
Was it unspoken truths or unwelcome realizations?

So, it begins…
What shall we use to plough into me?
A pick, a spade, a blade, or a shovel?
What digs deep enough?

Now it begins…
I am coming apart at the seams.
There it is—can you see grief sprouting from them?
I see her, the girl I used to be.
There it is—not hope,
Just time; the time has come for harvest.

So, let us begin…
Dig, dig, dig.
Dig deep enough…
Just enough to spare my dignity.

— Monyane.