Rejection and Acceptance

I am dirt.

Not the dirt that brings life,

packed against bedrock,

the dirt that springs up trees,

and grass,

and flowers.

But the sandy, dead dirt on the deer’s

feet.

The dirt that invades

despite the fact, or because,

it is never invited.

I am too small to be hugged.

I am too small to be kissed.

I am too small to be loved.

But I will not doubt

that the deer I cling to

are disregarded more than me.

They are shot dead and consumed.

I am brushed off to become

an unwanted accessory to another.