History Some dirt should stay. Not every tool should be wiped clean; not every day can be resolved like math or music in a major key, but that’s okay. Today the mulch I hauled had snagged its bits and twigs by quitting time to flinty drips of concrete Daddy mixed before my time. His wheelbarrow is mine; his legs like iron, his heart beats hit or miss, his way of plowing through his days as if each hour caught fire behind him. In my days, I find him lugging lime and sand to mix With rhythmic shovel chops, a steady spray Of mortar melding to the handles where Our hands can hold again on what’s left there.
Dana Wildsmith’s newest collection of poems is One Light from Texas Review Press, She is also the author of a novel, Jumping, an environmental memoir, Back to Abnormal: Surviving with an Old Farm in the New South, which was Finalist for Georgia Author of the Year, and five collections of poetry. Wildsmith has served as Artist-in-Residence for Grand Canyon National Park and Everglades National Park, as Writer-in-Residence for the Island Institute in Sitka, Alaska, and she is a Fellow of the Hambidge Center for Creative Arts and Sciences.