excavation

by laura vogt 
 i’m no anthropologist, but if you’re 
digging in the dirt and expecting magic 
you’re an explorer 
 magic doesn’t need to be defined, play 
doesn’t need a purpose, you don’t even 
know what’s real 
 in the sunlight, the trees shimmering in the 
wind, that first physical warmth of spring, i 
hope for everything 
 i hear robins, the distant weed whackers, 
and the children as they build a new 
world in the forest 
 slate-brown bark, new green leaves, far off 
the sun lighting along the edge of your body, 
a line of light enclosing you, like you’re 
traced by liquid magic 
 it’s like we’re here, but not. sunlines reminding 
me of illusion, of transference. where would i 
go, but here? 
 what would i dig down to, flee towards? i 
like it here, just fine. if only i was not too 
tired to enjoy 
 if only i could pause, sleep a year, then come 
back to today. you’re so startlingly beautiful. unique 
in your own way 
 no, i’d go nowhere but here, over and again, 
once more 
 excavation, digging into the dirt. whatever 
you are, you are your own hope. time is 
lost in you 
 whatever this is, childhood, a 
moment, i wish we could stay here 
forever 
 
 
 Arkansas Review 54.1 (April 2023) 
 15