Red Dirt Of Home

red dirt of Manati

survives    I plant the flowers

for you, daddy

the red dust on your boots

on the porch tiles

after you brushed out your khakis

there was always some left

in the cuffs of those work pants

today I whisper to your bones

look at your granddaughters

dad, one has your hazel eyes

one your blond hair

our hands stained red

the land you loved

I know you, I understand

we rinse our hands

water running red

splattering manicured toes

wipe dry on our shorts

they clean their hands meticulously

I keep the dirt 

under my nails

just a bit 

of home, of you

it is how 

I survive