Triggers on the Gardening Tool

like swords to plowshares,

we no longer use these words 

to cut. 

our wits, sharpened

to peel back

layers 

of self-harm.

onions making me tear up

without knowing why.

Amid these sandy seaside columns

I remove my hand

and with a look back

throw my lot in

as the land 

furrows behind me

the saltiness

peppering my past

losing its flavor

working this potter’s field.

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