Main T.o.C. Change Resist Ground Art

Taylor Graham What's Buried My dog’s in summer-dry pasture, madly digging. He kicks up rocks and clods with his digging. The pasture’s full of ankle-busting holes leading down to tunnel-labyrinths, critter-digging. Bones and roots live their long lives underneath where I walk, wondering about all this digging. Ground squirrels and gophers thrive down there, to surface in our garden, gnawing and digging. Tuberous blind eyes, tapping, a push to discover beginnings, and my dog won’t stop digging. An ancient streambed runs golden deep in dreams, gives up scraps to miners’ digging. Our town’s built on tunnels seeking that rich vein underground, and the earth shifts. Digging. My dog pauses as if listening to wordless tales, silent history, before he resumes his digging. Do stones and roots reach like fingers with ur-hunger that’s the source of digging? My dog sends dirt flying as if expecting miracles or maybe it’s just a dog’s great joy in digging.

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