mulch mountain

when we were kids we used to play our burials up on mulch mountain

(you remember my backyard was

a warzone

caked in mud craters lined with plyboard trenches

every shout from the back door rallied

troops to grub—a spike in morale

every day our war drew closer to an end

craters into paths trenches into walls

when our yellow-vested opposition made peace they

left a trojan horse of mulch)

if we could have dug deep enough into the center

splinters embedded into summer callouses

we would have found ourselves waiting hiding

but our attention spans

shorter than our legs

we took to hiding rather than seeking

burying all but the nose then bursting out

(you ignored the dirt stuck to your eyelashes

but i always complained)

i spent the years of my youth with you

slicked in mud burying my toes in wet sand peeling moss

from the graying stones bordering my weed gardens—

(and now you’ve forgotten me (or maybe

it’s the other way around) don’t you

remember that we came from the dirt?)

each speck that made

us was a sister piece—

we only needed one breath between us

(the last time i

hugged you i think both our ribs hurt

for a second your embrace felt like the crush

of mulch on my chest—i held all the air in my lungs

only to resurface alone)