Dirt Poem by Rich Harney

I shrink sometimes under the southern black
How the dirt hated the hoe, the hound, the hell-back
Scarred by centuries of whips,
hateful lips,
The blunt agony of tears,
Falling upon the earth,
the dirt restless for
Some reprieve and crying to the black night
For justice
And while God so seemingly gone
from prayers and hurt
and sad songs,
A lone banjo in the breeze
gives small comfort
To dark fruit hanging
In the trees.
Oh lord oh lord you've heard my plea
And death is still
my company.
Oh lord oh lord, are you present
In the dirt, ?
It alone holds flower and the love of me.