Lessons in life Part 6 (How to survive a dream crusher)

She dug their graves with a wooden spoon
and buried them alive
with a fistful of salt.

My mirrored words couldn't push a hand
up through the dirt,
instead I whispered of their plight
and imagine them weak, worn out
but safe, to be woken only by dappled sunlight.
The pale white of thin green shoots,
will still try to grow under the heaviest of pots.

At night my mind called to them,
fairies flitting in bursts of light,
trapped underneath tree bark,
the orange dust of our rusty old swing,
curled in every drip
from the broken gutter.

I dug the escape tunnel many times,
spread the soil from my pockets over the garden,
only to find, it was always me they left behind.