My hands were dirty From the very first moment We started digging. I could feel the mud caking and drying Under my fingernails and in my wrinkles. Then you stopped, And I continued scraping. I looked up at you with the sweat running down my brow, Wondering why you would ever stop When we knew that everything we wanted Was buried only a few inches further down. I dug and I dug until my nails began scratching Against bare rock, Grinding away with nubs that shrieked as they tried to claw Out little trenches. Then I felt the sun baking my bare shoulders and I stopped. My hands lay there, my fingertips bloody and burning. I placed them in the soil to cool While you walked away, to the tent where the Water jug was waiting. There was no use continuing without a pick or shovel. I shook my head and stood up, realizing my Digging was futile. Then I saw your head shoot up As you watched me walk towards you standing with the cup of water against your lips. You threw it down And sprinted out of the tent. I felt the breeze as you sped by, and I swore I could smell fear. I turned and watched as you fell on your knees and began digging frantically, Your hands constantly turning and following each other Like a waterwheel. I could hear your fingernails breaking and screeching, and I could hear your sobs when you saw how useless all my scrapings had been. Then you cried out, "Come back here! Help me!" For a second I turned, I considered the shaking shoulders that I saw heaving as you sobbed and digged. I thought how it would feel digging with you again, Two amateur excavators Digging for a dream with the best tools we had. But then I considered the rock and how it would never give, And the water That I saw sitting in a puddle at my feet. I decided digging was for those with jackhammers and steamshovels, For those who had reason to believe in the hole beneath them, For those who knew they would always have four hands to scrape together, Those who knew their two hands would not bleed alone. I picked up your cup And filled it full of water. I drank and dreamed Of what lay beneath the soil, And a stronger pair of hands.