Hard Work

Kathleen Aguero

Hope springs eternal, but

I couldn’t imagine how

hope, before it gets to that bubbling place,

forces itself through miles of dirt packed hard,

then around, over, under rocks,

willing itself not to dry up in the desert

or to merge with the sewer of a city street,

waiting for frozen prairie to thaw,

resisting the warm and mindless absorption

of mud, moss, sand, swamp

until it finds the small trembling

where, welcome or not, it gathers the last of its strength

and breaks through to the surface

the way a laboring woman, stinking,

exhausted, summons one last grunt and push

to force the baby into the world

where it takes its first, sharp breath.

I bow my head to the hard work of hope.

I let it place its dull and heavy hand upon my neck.

I submit to its dour blessing.

I give up. I begin

its thankless, necessary pilgrimage.

(“Hard Work,” from After That, poems by Kathleen Aguero. Copyright 2013 by Kathleen Aguero. Reproduced by permission of Tiger Bark Press.)