I ordered it myself
a crew
an excavator
a war on the writhing den
of blackberries
those mangled hands that crept
closer to our house
wanting in.
I wasn’t there when the machine
rolled in, ripping
and chewing
but when I saw the land
bare and torn
stray roots poking up awkwardly
like the hairs on an old
man’s head
I almost wept
in the disorientation
of all that loose earth
not knowing where
to place my hands
and apologize.