A Bag Full Of Tools That Dig Deep Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

My spade is nothing but words
that dig deep when I step on
the thing and let it go into
the fertile ground where I see
the ground break into cavities
like those in the center of my
tooth.

I throw the seed and it
promises a harvest which without
water does grow but looks so
wilted that I rush for the hose.

It comes dragging on the ground,
and asks me where my mind had gone,
when I put the seed down and did
not tell it immediately to stand
up and be counted for without
thoughts the seeds called words
just lay there until somebody
comes to knock on the door and
says, 'hello seed, would you love
to grow?

This seed says, 'even if I would,
the love that would take me there
is not shown by the one who stole
me from my kind and threw me here
where neglect eats my body and
all that is me gets lost in dry
ground.

The field says words cannot be the
tool of a farmer where thoughts go
wild and no focus comes to the
red spot on the forehead to give
honor to a custom old that says
think it, word it and then put
some love into it and voila! A
field evergreen and lovely! . There
we go where we are assured a
bountiful harvest.

For the big book said you shall
ask, seek and knock all words
which come with consequence to
those who dare to do as they are
told for telling is about words
and them as tools shall see us
through, for what else do we have
but language that even the poor
cannot say they have little of.