Groundhog Day: Told Through Buck Teeth
poem for the humble Groundhog
We stick to our roots, we keep our ground hogged. The dirt has a way of worming too deep, too warm, too wet to keep us from sticking. Sky is an unfathomable limit when the ceiling is rock bottom. But the holes we fill we dug ourselves. If we live in our graves it is because we chose not to live outside of them. But when we came and saw how pretty, how even our dark made so many smile. When they did, so did we.
1art by Pragna Gaddamedi (@prgs.jpeg)
Poetry Tip of the Day!
I’m not sure why I decided to write about Groundhog Day, but I remember it definitely wasn’t February 2nd when I wrote it. In elementary school, I was so excited to hear whether it had come of its hole or not, but I’ve since forgotten the history behind it. Luckily, this is a poem and not an essay, so the history matters not. I wanted to put myself in the mind of the groundhog—with no context or history. What would I think if I just came out of the ground to see all these weird hairless groundhogs staring and taking pictures? Maybe I would be scared, but what if I did this last year. Maybe now I look forward to it. Maybe it’s what gets me out of my hole in the morning.
beast