I dig for bones.

Nameless bones

for nameless faces

that have rotted off

crammed in nameless graves.

They were the young men I had seen

‘round side my town

in their greens holding

Cigarettes.

I dig their bones like treasure

though it isn’t out of reverence to them –

No.

I dig them because they are treasure.

Priceless to me

because they are opportunity

Incarnate.

There’s a ticket in these bones.

The ticket to Freedom and Liberty

to the land of Hope.

I wonder

Gruesomely

of ashes and marrow at my feet

of slimy mud embracing me

of young men of the towns

of yearning –

Yearning

I yearn.

I yearn that my hands will never be caked in their dirt again.

I yearn that my lips will never drink this poisoned air again.

I yearn that I will no longer linger –

Linger

on those young men in green

putting out their cigarettes on their bare arms

laughing in foreign tongue

laughing like children.

Those young men in green.

I yearn.

I am not alone when I dig these bones.

There are others.

Haggard others

with gaunt faces

wading through the mud barefoot

Clawing

for Opportunity.

They remember the young men too.

They remember the yearning.

They remember the talk of a new kind of treasure

buried beneath wasteland.

The treasure that buys you

the ticket to Freedom.

I dig for bones.

I dig for bones.

I dig for bones.

I dig for their bones.

My ticket to freedom.