by Christina Daub

Scooping the earth this morning,
dirt turning and overturned
loose root loam, tunnels
of worms, centipedes
now exposed to sun, to air—
an invasion of sorts,
a disturbance, I regret and yet,
also a sign to exit the dark,
to unroot this burrowed
grief I wriggle away from,
my unseen father near me
in the grass, watching,
waiting, the cardinal
dressed in all his feathers,
his otherworldly reds.

Christina Daub has recent or forthcoming work in Another Chicago Magazine, Kenyon Review, poetryxhunger.com, Potomac Review among other literary journals. She is a Pushcart nominated poet who also translates Spanish & German poetry into English. You can find her at christinadaub.com or @flix2fly on Twitter.