Just because
I’m on my knees
doesn’t mean I’m down
I could be praying, hell
Just because
I can’t afford
your lazy opinion
Doesn’t mean I’m poor, no
Just because
these hands hold dirt
doesn’t mean they’re clenched
They may be cradling, yes
Just because
in each of them a life line
holds a garden’s sanity
Doesn’t mean I’m rising, yet
First published in The Rye Whiskey Review June 2018 Editor John Patrick Robbins
Walking Through Fences ASM&Cerberus Flying Island Books 2018
James Walton Poetry 