Buried Alive

Pulling leaves from my hair almost

as naturally as I blew wishes from dandelions

this was of course, after one full minute of being

buried alive, in a pile my mom raked earlier that

afternoon.

I had laid there, still as possible with my mouth

shut tight-afraid it may burst with gasp or giggle,

unearth my hiding spot to the hunter,

my older brother, who with the taste for revenge

stuck between his teeth sought me out

in our backyard while I lay

dead,

avoiding the taste of autumn, soft bits

of soil and earth that fell on my lips,

hoping for the first time in nine years to feel

invisible.

All the while twigs poking

at my sanity, bugs crawling all over

my pride, grass tickling the quarter inch

of skin between my sock and pant leg that lay

exposed

Alerted by crinkling of leaves under foot,

I counted one two three!

tuck ducked and rolled just as

the attack ensued, there was a struggle,

faces shoved into dirt, leaves shoved down

pants, in mouth, up shirt, grass stained and glowing

I ran.