When you buried my shovel
I was left idle, unmasked and thinking
There is no glitter in my well
No gold ‘mong damp and mossy dark
–
Most ropes would recoil
But these linen plaits graze water
Unfrayed and still and tranquil
As the maple roof and stonework above
–
Anglo, Roman-Catholic stays
Build ribcages smoother than granite
And flakes of mica without replace
Ingots for those who would clamber within
–
Some eyes stay bright and guileless through
Trials largely of one’s own making
Rope winding, coiling back to
Where I am from
*
Based on the prompt “Where I’m from”:
Serial Outlet 
Ah, I didn’t see that you included this in my comments. I have chills. This last stanza:
Some eyes stay bright and guileless through
Trials largely of one’s own making
Rope winding, coiling back to
Where I am from
It gave me chills each time I read it….magical.
Thank you!! When I was thinking about where I am from, I strayed into what my origins have made of me
That’s what I love about it. Such a creative interpretation that knocks the breath out of you when you read the last sentence…I’ve read it like 10 times!!
Deep and poignant words so well composed.
Thank you 🙂
Welcome.
I agree with Kamal and Brooke. Well done Lily! This is very poignant and creative. Thanks for playing along and sharing your lovely poem. blessings, Brad
Well it was a very interesting prompt! Thank you for visiting 🙂
My pleasure.