F O L K L A W

A man is swimming in the ground
The hills are waves
wrinkling with his sinking mouth
His arms whirl amidst the clods
He raises his face to the sun -
dirt, algae, roots,
worms coil on his body
clods and weeds splash up
he takes a deep breath, exhales.
The man is swimming, determinedly swimming.
From the sky, with a wooden shovel,
dirt is being thrown at him—
he is being watched.

‘Swimming In The Ground’ – Zsofia Balla